The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (49 page)

"I suppose I must be satisfied with that."

"You must, yes. And so must I." The tight set of his lips and the whitened knuckles of the hands that grasped the reins betrayed the same sense of frustration that affected me. After a moment he added, "Don't you suppose I want to go with them? I dare not; my presence would only increase the risk. There is nothing I can do to help them, except possibly to provide a distraction."

"So that is why you announced you would investigate the substructure."

"One of the reasons." Emerson grinned. "I want to see what's down there."

Lia and David would not stay for tea. Ramses was to meet them at the dahabeeyah and would, Lia said casually, probably spend the night. He had taken to keeping toilet articles and changes of clothing there.

"Bring him to breakfast tomorrow/' I said.

It was an order, not a request; the only possible response was "yes," and Lia gave it.

They left the horses and went on on foot, arms entwined. The others went up to change, except for Nefret, who intercepted me. "Geoffrey wonders if Ramses is avoiding him," she said. "I promised him I would ask you."

"Now why would he wonder that?" I said in some confusion.

She did not reply, but stood looking at me with a singular lack of expression. I wondered if she had learned the trick from me; it is more likely to induce a response than repeated questions.

"He is enjoying David's company," I said at last. "You know how close they are. He—er—no doubt he also means it as a delicate attention to the two of you."

I hoped she would not ask me what I meant by that, since I did not know myself. Apparently she accepted it, for she nodded and left me.

The conversation at dinner was strictly archaeological and conducted almost entirely by Emerson and Geoffrey. The latter appeared to be very interested in our bones (the ones we had found, that is). "Were they, perhaps, sacrifices to the dead king?" he asked.

"The shaft was not dug to contain the animal burials," said Emerson. "They are later in date. You observed that the pit in which they lay was smaller in size than the shaft itself."

I am afraid I paid less attention than I ought to have done. The Reader need not doubt whither my thoughts had strayed.

After a restless (on my part) night we were up betimes. Again mist veiled the windows; again I hastened downstairs. Nefret and

Geoffrey were already there, and Fatima had served the food before the others finally came. It was with inexpressible relief that I beheld them, but a second look at Ramses brought a quickly repressed exclamation to my lips.

It was repressed, to be precise, by Emerson, who placed his serviette firmly over my mouth. "A bit of butter on your chin, my dear," he said. "Let me remove it."

My dear Emerson and I communicate without words, nor had he missed the signs of exhaustion that marked his son's face. It was not long before his keen wits and amiable paternal concern had determined on a course of action.

"Pay attention, everyone," he said. "Certain changes in our schedule have become expedient. Ramses, I need to borrow you back from Reisner for a few days. He can have Geoffrey instead."

Geoffrey choked on a swallow of coffee and had to retreat behind his serviette.

"You can't trade people back and forth as if they were picks and shovels, Emerson," I exclaimed. "Have you spoken with Mr. Reisner about this?"

Geoffrey cleared his throat. "I'm afraid he won't agree, sir."

Emerson's fist came down on the table. "Reisner is not the Lord God Jehovah! He will have to agree because I have said so. I need Ramses to go over the proofs of the text volume of my history. I received another cursed letter from the cursed Oxford University Press yesterday saying they will have to delay publication for six months unless they receive the proofs by the end of February. I respect your acquaintance with the language, Geoffrey, but I trust I do not offend you when I point out it is not the equal of Ramses's. Besides, he is familiar with the material."

It was a suspiciously detailed explanation for Emerson, who does not often condescend to explain at all. I felt sure I understood his real motive, and I was filled with admiration for his ingenuity.

"No further objections?" Emerson inquired, glowering at each of us in turn. "Hmph. I will stop by Harvard Camp on the way to the dig and tell Reisner what I have decided. You had better ride with me, Geoffrey, and stay at Giza if you are wanted. Ramses, come up to my study and I will show you what needs to be done before I leave. The rest of you be ready to go."

"Yes, sir," said Ramses. He followed Emerson out of the room.

I gave them five minutes, and then followed. Emerson was just coming out of his study. Through the open doorway I saw that Ramses was already asleep on the sofa, motionless as an effigy of a knight on a tombstone and looking remarkably innocent with his hands limp at his sides and his lashes dark against his cheeks. Emerson closed the door.

"I couldn't wait," I explained. "Did they have any luck last night? Er ... he is all right, isn't he?"

Emerson gave me a quick kiss. "Sleep is all he needs. This was the only way I could think of to explain his absence from work."

"And very clever it was, Emerson."

"Hmph." Emerson fingered the cleft, or dimple, in his chin, as he does when deep in thought. "I've never seen him drawn quite so fine, Peabody. It is more than physical exhaustion, it is nervous strain as well. Was he in love with that girl?"

"Maude? Oh, no."

"And you would know." He drew my arm through his and led me toward the front of the house. "Good Gad, we sound like a pair of society gossips. As for last night, you can and undoubtedly will quiz David once you've got him to yourself. I will arrange matters so that he gets a few hours' rest today."

"Are they going out again tonight?"

"I don't know. Ramses was asleep on his feet and I didn't want to keep the others waiting."

The mist was lifting, but it still lay thick upon the Giza plateau; after Geoffrey and Emerson had turned onto the side road their forms were gradually enveloped in clinging white fog. The rest of us went on along the main road, which was filled with the usual morning traffic, from camels to bicyclists. Riding four abreast would not have been courteous (or safe, given the disposition of a camel). I directed the girls to precede me and David, and then I got to work squeezing information out of him. Direct assault was the method I selected.

"What happened to Ramses's hands?"

"His hands?" David's look of surprise would not have deceived a child.

"They were green."

"Oh, Lord. I thought we'd got the stuff off!"

"I have seen Kadija's ointment often enough to recognize it, even on a cloudy morning when the individual in question is doing his best to hide his palms. It is not easy to remove with soap and water. What happened?"

"Just rope burns," David said. "He was hanging on to the rope and had to descend in something of a hurry."

"Because people were shooting at him?"

"Goodness no." David essayed to chuckle. "They were only— um—about to cut the rope. It was rather a long drop, you see. Onto a stone paving."

He was beginning to sound a little rattled, so I continued to press him. "When was this?"

"Night before last."

"That is why he kept out of my way yesterday," I mused. "Did they get a good look at him?"

"He doesn't think so."

"He doesn't think so," I repeated. "What about you?"

"No. I was down below."

"And what happened last night?"

"Nothing." David took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. "Something went wrong. Oh, the deuce. I may as well tell you."

"You may as well."

"Well, you see, one of the things Ramses overheard before someone took a notion to approach the window was that Failani was to meet the—er—the effendi last night. Unfortunately the place of the meeting was not mentioned. The only thing we could do was trail Failani, which we did—for six bloody—excuse me, Aunt Amelia!—six hours. He visited a number of interesting places, but if a meeting took place we missed it. We might have done. We couldn't follow him into ... into certain of the places."

I decided not to press him on that issue. "You said Ramses's presence was observed the previous night, even if he was not recognized. Has it occurred to you that Failani may have anticipated he would be followed? That he led you on a wild-goose chase instead of keeping his appointment? That he arranged to have someone follow
you?"

"Yes, ma'am," David said wretchedly. "It did occur to us. Eventually."

"David, this has become too dangerous. You must stop it."

"It's not up to me," David said gently but firmly. "Where my brother goes, I go."

Emerson arrived at the site soon after us and looked surprised when I asked what Mr. Reisner had said. "He said nothing. What was there to say?" He inspected David from head to foot and back again, and scowled. "David, I won't need you for a few hours. Go round to the south side and get me a series of photographs of the area at the base of the pyramid. There's got to be some trace of a casing, curse it. Selim? Where the devil are ... Oh. Let's get back to the shaft."

"Do you want me to help David with the photography?" Nefret asked.

"No, Lia can give him a hand." He avoided looking at her, and a wave of sadness washed over me. Emerson and I had sometimes kept the children in the dark about certain of our schemes, but never before had all of us treated Nefret like an outsider. In a sense she was, though. Her chief allegiance was now to another, and although I knew Geoffrey could not be the villain we sought, we could not be certain of his discretion or his understanding. The delicacy of the situation was particularly acute with regard to the activities of Ramses and David.

This realization brought home to me how closely knit and united our little band had grown over the years. In time Geoffrey might become part of it. No doubt he would. It took normal people a while to get used to us.

Lia and David went off, not to photograph but to snatch a few hours' sleep, and the rest of us returned to the shaft. The dimensions of the animal pit became more apparent as we went deeper. It was narrower than the shaft itself, and Emerson's assumption that it was considerably later in date was confirmed by the discovery of faience amulets and wooden animal figures mixed in with the bones. David and Lia joined us for luncheon; I was pleased to observe that the lad appeared greatly refreshed, and when we went back to work on the shaft he accompanied us. We were still digging up bones when the sudden disappearance of the declining sun behind a bank of cloud cast a shadow like twilight over the scene.

"Confound it!" said David, who had been about to make an exposure.

Emerson cast a malevolent look at the cloud bank. Rimmed by the rays of the sun it had concealed, it hung like a gold-trimmed purple curtain across the western sky. "Confound it," he repeated.

It was not the increased difficulty of photography that concerned him, but the possible consequences of a heavy rain. He began bawling out orders.

"Nefret, stop sorting those bones and pile them into baskets. Selim—Daoud—get the tarpaulin from the shelter and stretch it over the excavation. We'll need heavy stones to anchor the corners. David, pack up the cameras. Peabody—Lia—"

I was already on my way to the shelter, to gather up our notes and papers and pack the remains of the food. It was inspiring to see how quickly everyone scattered, each to his appointed task, all moving with the efficiency long experience had taught us. The rain held off, but the skies darkened and a brisk wind arose, tugging at the canvas so that we had the devil of a time getting it into place and keeping it there. The hired laborers had scampered away toward their village; only our loyal men remained, working as assiduously as we.

I lay flat across one section of canvas, holding it down until Daoud could fetch another stone, and admiring the unusual atmospheric manifestations. The eastern sky was clear, but the uncanny shadow cast an eerie light across the cultivation. Toward the north the shapes of the pyramids stood out black against an encrimsoned rent in the clouds. Another shape became apparent; it was that of a horse and rider, approaching at an easy pace. There was no mistaking the elegant outline of Risha, or, come to that, the outline of Ramses. Someone had once said Ramses rode like a centaur, and he looked like one just then, for the forms of man and horse blended into a featureless silhouette.

He was still some little distance away when a sharp cracking sound made me start and look up. A repetition of the sound told me what I ought to have known from the first. It was not thunder I had heard, it was a rifle shot. I jumped up in time to hear a third shot and see Ramses fall forward over the horse's neck.

He held on, though, and when Risha came to a stop he straightened and looked down with a particularly supercilious expression at the agitated group surrounding him and the horse. We had all run like fury, and so had Risha, straight to us. Having delivered his rider, he turned his head and snuffled inquiringly at Ramses's arm. The latter raised both eyebrows at me.

"Put your pistol away, Mother. May I ask what you intended to shoot at?"

Unaware of having removed the weapon from my pocket, I looked at it in surprise. Emerson snatched at my hand. "Don't point it at your face, Peabody, curse it! Ramses, are you hurt?"

"No."

"Then why did you appear to collapse?" I demanded angrily, as Emerson took the pistol from me.