The Golden One (13 page)

‘Certainly,’ said Emerson, looking surprised. He pointed. ‘We are only eight thousand feet from Medinet Habu. Cheer up, Peabody, we’ll be going down from here; there is a
perfectly good path to the next wadi and from there it’s only a hop, skip, and a jump to the Cemetery of the Monkeys.’

By the time we reached the end of his ‘perfectly good path’, which was nothing of the sort, the sun was high overhead. A long, relatively low ridge of rock separated the first wadi
from the second, though I certainly would not have described its traverse as a hop, skip, and a jump. A scramble, a slip, and a stretch would be more like it. Once over the ridge we saw a narrow,
irregular canyon, stretching out to the north. The ground was extremely uneven, littered with fallen rock and archaeological debris – fragments of red pottery, flints, and so on.

Hot, out of breath, and faced with this unpromising view, I allowed myself to speak candidly. ‘That, I take it, is the wadi where the princesses’ tomb is located. Would you now care
to explain what the devil we are doing here? You told Cyrus he would be wasting his time looking for tombs here.’

‘Hmph,’ said Emerson. ‘Modesty forbids me to mention that I am perhaps a trifle more qualified than Vandergelt. However, that is not my primary aim. I just – er –
want to have a look at the princesses’ tomb. The bastards can’t have made a complete clearance.’

‘Oh, yes, they could have. I tell you, Emerson, you won’t find anything of interest – and how are we to locate the exact spot? The tomb was well hidden, and there are dozens of
clefts and rifts in those walls.’

‘There may be signs,’ Emerson insisted. ‘Watermarks, fresh stone chips, possibly even scraps of the burial equipment. Do you see anything, Ramses?’

‘No, sir.’ Ramses bent and picked up a piece of worked stone, covered with a thick patina. He tossed it away. ‘Paleolithic.’

We made our way slowly along the uneven floor of the wadi, scanning the rocky walls on either side. There was a good deal more debris, in the form of pottery shards and scraps of stone. I came
to a halt next to a gaping hole and let out a cry of excitement. ‘Emerson! A pit tomb, is it not? And here – ’ I reached for an object half hidden in dusty chips – something
that was surely metallic, for a glint of sunlight had shone off it. ‘Here is – oh.’

It was a crumpled cigarette tin.

‘Carter,’ said Emerson, making the name sound like an expletive.

‘How do you know?’

‘None of the local men can afford European cigarettes,’ Emerson said. ‘It’s the brand he smokes, isn’t it?’

As we went on, the ground underfoot became even more uneven; it appeared as if someone had conducted a random but extensive excavation. Emerson growled. ‘Either Carter has lost all
remnants of archaeological conscience, or the locals have been digging, looking for tombs.’

‘The latter, surely,’ said Ramses. ‘Carter had every right to be here, Father; he has done nothing wrong.’

‘Hmph,’ said Emerson, who could not deny this, but who, in his heart of hearts, regarded the entire country of Egypt as his personal property, archaeologically speaking.

We had almost reached the end of the canyon when I became aware of a faint, unpleasant smell. I looked up, expecting to see floating overhead the winged predators that feed on carrion; but the
sky was empty of all but light.

Jumana was the first to see the signs for which we had been searching. She ran on ahead, quick and sure-footed over the uneven ground, and came to a stop. ‘See!’

The object she held up was a small gold bead.

‘Ha,’ said Emerson. ‘Well done, Jumana. Yes, just as I expected. The tomb must have been partially filled with rock fallen from the walls and ceiling. The villains were careful
not to remove any more of it than they had to, but they were bound to lose a few items. By Gad, that looks like a bone.’

It fell to pieces in a shower of dust when he picked it up. ‘Water-rotted,’ Emerson muttered, and began rooting around in the debris.

‘The tomb must be up there,’ Ramses said, shading his eyes with his hand. ‘Directly above, in that rift.’

Emerson got to his feet. Only then did something odd seem to strike him. He threw his shoulders back, raised his head, and sniffed. ‘Have the local lads been up to their old tricks –
throwing the carcass of a dead animal into the shaft to deter other explorers? You remember the Abd er Rassuls, and the Royal Cache.’

‘Why would they bother to do that, if there is nothing left in the tomb?’ I asked. I pinched my nose with my fingers.

‘Precisely,’ said Emerson, looking pleased. ‘I will just have a look.’

We were at the far end of the valley, facing a steep cliff that I judged to be over a hundred feet high. Some thirty feet above us I made out a cleft running deep into the rock.

‘Emerson,’ I said, choosing my words with care, ‘it is a sheer drop from the cleft down to the base of the cliff. If you are bent on breaking your arm or your leg or your neck
or all three, find a place closer to home so we won’t have to carry you such a distance.’

Emerson grinned at me. ‘You do enjoy your little touches of sarcasm, Peabody. I can make it.’

‘No, sir, I don’t believe you can,’ Ramses said, quietly but firmly. ‘I wouldn’t care to try it either. I’ll go round and up, with the rope, and lower myself
from the top as the thieves did.’

I let out a sigh of relief. Ramses seldom contradicted his father, but when he did, Emerson heeded his advice – a compliment he paid few people, including me.

‘Oh,’ he said, stroking his chin. ‘Hmph. Very well, my boy. Be careful.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I will go too,’ Daoud volunteered. ‘To hold the rope.’

He slung a coil of rope over his shoulder and the two of them set out towards the mouth of the wadi, where the enclosing cliffs were lower and easier to climb. They would have quite a scramble
to get to the top, but I was not concerned about them; Ramses was the best rock climber in the family and Daoud had been up and down cliffs like these since childhood. He would make certain Ramses
took sensible precautions.

I occupied the time by writing up a few notes about the appearance and location of the tomb, while Emerson dug in the rubble as happily as a dog looking for buried bones, and Nefret paced
restlessly back and forth, glancing from time to time at the top of the cliff. The sun was almost directly overhead and it was very warm. I removed my coat, folded it neatly, placed it on the
ground beside me, and went on with my journal. The smell did not seem so strong now. The olfactory sense is quick to adjust.

Despite Nefret’s frequent glances upward, Jumana was the first to see them. She began jumping up and down and waving her arms. The two figures, diminished by distance, made me realize how
high the cliff was, and how precipitous the drop. I wondered if the rope would be long enough, and if they could find some stout object to which it could be fastened, and if Ramses would have sense
enough not to rely solely on Daoud to hold it. Our friend’s strength was legendary, but if a slip or a snakebite caused him to lose his grip, even for a second . . .

The rope came tumbling down, and one of the small figures began to descend – rather too rapidly, in my opinion. It was Ramses, as I had known it would be. It was hard to make out the
outlines of his form, even with the sunlight full upon him, since his dusty clothing blended with the colour of the stone, but his bare black head was clearly discernible. When he reached a point
some forty-five feet above us he stopped, feet braced against the cliff, and waved.

‘Keep hold of the damned rope!’ I shouted.

He heard me. A faint and unquestionably mocking ‘Yes, Mother’ floated down to us. Then he disappeared.

‘Into the cleft,’ Emerson muttered. ‘How long . . .’

It was only a few minutes before Ramses reappeared. Instead of reascending he looked up and shouted something at Daoud. Apparently the rope was not long enough to reach all the way to the
ground; after Daoud had untied it, Ramses pulled it down and busied himself doing something I could not see – fastening it again, I assumed, since in a short while it uncoiled, the lower end
touching the ground not far from where we stood. It had been knotted at regular intervals – a primitive but effective method of preventing the climber from losing his grip.

Ramses swung himself out of the cleft and descended. Even before he turned to face us I knew something was amiss.

‘It isn’t an animal,’ he said. ‘It’s a man. Was a man.’

Nefret reached for the rope. Ramses pulled her back and turned her to face him, holding her by the shoulders.

‘He’s dead, Nefret. You can’t do anything for him.’

‘I can tell how he died.’ She tried to twist away from him but he tightened his grasp.

‘Nefret, will you listen to me? I’m not talking about a nice dry mummy. There’s still water in the chamber, and he’s been there for days, possibly weeks.’

Her face was flushed with heat and rising temper. ‘Damnation, Ramses, I’ve examined more cadavers than you have!’

‘You aren’t going to examine this one.’

‘Who’s going to stop me?’

‘Er,’ said Emerson.

I poked him with my parasol. ‘Not you, Emerson. Nefret, stop and think. I am in full sympathy with your interest in corpses, but I do not see that anything is to be gained by your
inspecting this one at this time.’

The smell seemed to have intensified since Ramses’s announcement. I pressed my handkerchief to my nose, and Emerson gaped at me.

‘You mean you don’t insist on inspecting it, and the tomb, too? Good Gad, Peabody, do you feel well?’

‘Quite well, my dear, thank you, and I intend to remain so.’

The children, still facing each other in somewhat belligerent attitudes, turned their heads to look at us. I was happy to observe that my reasonable remarks had lowered the emotional
temperature. The corners of Nefret’s mouth quivered, and the angry colour faded from Ramses’s face. His hands moved from her shoulders down her arms in a quick, caressing gesture.
‘Please,’ he said.

Nefret tilted her head back and looked up into his eyes. ‘Since you put it that way . . .’

Emerson let out a gusty breath. ‘Very good. We’ll have to have him out, though, if we want to examine the tomb.’

‘Common decency requires that we have him out,’ I said. ‘And give him a proper burial. I suppose he met with an accident while looking for another tomb to rob.’

‘It was no accident. He’d been arranged, propped up in a sitting position against the side of the passage, and held upright by . . .’ Ramses hesitated for a moment before he
went on. ‘. . . By a metal spike driven through his throat and into a crack in the rock.’

Chapter Four

We retreated some distance down the wadi before opening the baskets of food. There was not a breath of air stirring and very little shade; we all removed as many garments as
propriety allowed. I looked enviously from Ramses and Emerson, shirtless as well as coatless, to Selim and Daoud, who appeared perfectly comfortable in their enveloping but loose garments.

I knew I was going to have another argument with Emerson about how to proceed. He was bound and determined to get into the confounded tomb.

‘We have not the proper equipment for dealing with a decomposing corpse,’ I declared, peeling an orange. ‘And how would we get it back? You aren’t proposing we take it in
turn to carry it over those hills, I hope?’

Emerson is the most stubborn individual of my acquaintance, but even he was temporarily silenced. He bit into a chicken leg and masticated vigorously. His blue eyes took on a dreamy, pensive
look, and his noble brow was untroubled; but I knew he was only biding his time till he could think of a way of getting round the logic of my statement.

‘Decidedly unpleasant, if not actually impossible,’ said Ramses, who knew his father as well as I did. ‘I propose we go to Gurneh and try to locate his friends or his family.
Someone may have reported him missing.’

‘To the police?’ Emerson snorted. ‘Not likely, with that lot.’

‘They will admit the truth to us, or to Selim,’ Ramses argued. ‘We will have to come back in any case. Mother is right about that.’

‘Oh, very well.’ Emerson finished his chicken leg and jumped up. ‘I will just have a quick look before – ’

‘No, you will not! You see what comes of your schemes, Emerson. We ought to have made inquiries before ever we came here. If you would listen to me – ’

‘Bah,’ said Emerson.

Selim had tried several times to get a word in. Now he said, ‘I think I know who the man might be, Father of Curses. If you had asked me – ’

‘Not you too, Selim,’ Emerson shouted. ‘I will not be criticized by my wife
and
my reis. One of you at a time, but not simultaneously.’

However, the combined arguments of Ramses, Selim, and myself carried the day. Emerson is stubborn, but he is not completely unreasonable – and he counted on getting into the wretched tomb
another time.

Emerson chose another path this time, straight down to the end of the wadi and through another, narrower canyon, descending all the while. It was certainly easier than the way we had come, but
it was necessary to watch where one stepped for fear of twisting an ankle, and Emerson set such a rapid pace that conversation was impossible. Neither of these considerations prevented me from
ratiocination.