The Golden One (31 page)

The sun was sinking. It would be dark in a few hours. ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere,’ Ramses said, trying to keep his voice level. ‘There are too many places like that.
If he’s got in the habit of pushing people off cliffs, as Mother put it . . .’

‘Can you visualize Jamil pushing Father?’ Nefret demanded. ‘He’d have to back off twenty feet and run at Father – and then have another go at Mother, who would be
peppering him with bullets while he ran.’

Jumana gave her a look of surprise and reproach, but Ramses knew his wife’s lighthearted comment was a valiant attempt to keep their spirits up and reassure them. It did help to relieve
Ramses’s anxiety a bit; the scene she had described was so ludicrous it brought a halfhearted smile to his face.

‘You’re right, though, Jumana,’ she went on. ‘He’d want some place away from people. Not towards the cultivation, but back that way, along the base of the cliffs. A
place he could trick them into entering without exposing himself.’

‘But then,’ said Daoud, ‘they would come out again. How could he prevent them? Unless . . .’

Quick wits were not Daoud’s most notable characteristic, but every now and then he confounded them all by reaching a conclusion that had escaped everyone else. They waited for him to
continue.

‘Unless it was a very narrow space,’ Daoud went on, his brow wrinkling. ‘With no other way out. Then, when they tried to come out, crawling or bent over, he could prevent them
– standing to one side with a long heavy stick. If he was quick and lucky, one blow might be enough.’

The simple words had created a vivid and very ugly picture. ‘You’re talking about a tomb,’ Ramses said slowly. ‘Or a cave. Surely they wouldn’t be stupid enough to
enter an obvious trap – not both of them . . .’ He caught Nefret’s eye and threw up his hands. ‘Hell and damnation! They would, wouldn’t they? Especially Mother.
Daoud, you reason well, but there are hundreds of such places in the cliffs. We wouldn’t know where to start looking. I’m going back and talk to Yusuf. There’s an outside chance
– ’

‘Wait – wait!’ Jumana was bouncing on her toes, her face flushed with excitement. ‘I have remembered something – something Jamil said when we first met at Luxor. He
was talking about the tomb of the princesses and how he had been cheated, and then he talked very fast and very angrily, saying that he had discovered two rich treasures and had nothing to show
because everyone had cheated him of what was rightfully his, and – ’

She paused to draw a long breath. Ramses was about to express his impatience with her dramatic, long-drawn-out narrative when Nefret said softly, ‘Let her tell it her way.’

‘I am trying to remember exactly what he said,’ Jumana explained. She hadn’t missed Ramses’s signs of impatience either. ‘These are the words, the exact words.
“They took it, the Inglizi, but I have taken it back; the dwelling place of a god is not too good for me, and they will never find me there, and someday . . .” It was then he threatened
to kill you, Ramses, and I forgot what he said before because it made no sense and I was very worried and – ’

‘Ah, yes.’ Daoud nodded. So far as he was concerned, the matter was settled. ‘The shrine of Amon-Re. I should have thought of it.’

‘The place certainly fits your specifications,’ Ramses said. He was afraid to let his hopes rise. ‘I suppose it can’t do any harm to have a look.’

‘Shall we go back for the horses?’ Nefret asked.

‘They went on foot,’ Ramses said. ‘We may find some trace of them along the way.’

They took the most direct path, straight towards the western cliffs, over rising rocky ground interrupted by occasional outcroppings. Remembering the shrine chamber they had cleared the previous
year, Ramses had to admit it would make an ideal spot for an ambush, assuming Jamil could trick them into entering the place. It might not have been difficult. They had thought they were following
Jumana, and if they had believed Jamil was inside the man-made cavern, Emerson would not have hesitated to go down after him. And his mother would have followed, of course – “to protect
him!’ If they had found the place empty they would have returned to the shaft, which was perpendicular and not very deep. If he was standing on the bottom, Emerson’s head would be less
than two feet below the surface. The picture that formed in Ramses’s mind was even uglier than the first: a long, heavy club crashing down on his father’s bare head.

Their precipitate pace aroused the curiosity of the people they encountered. Several of them followed along, in case something of interest might occur. Questions assailed them. ‘Had
something happened? Where were they going?’ Ramses didn’t answer; he wanted to swat at them, as he would have swatted flies. Receiving no replies, one of them suggested, ‘Are you
looking for the Father of Curses, then? He was – ’

The word ended in a gurgle as Selim spun round and caught him by the throat. ‘You saw him? When? Why didn’t you say so?’

Plucking at his fingers, the luckless man gasped, ‘You did not ask, Selim.’

Selim loosened his grip and Ramses apologized in the usual way. Clutching a handful of coins and swelling with pride at being the centre of attention, their informant explained that he had seen
the Father of Curses and the Sitt Hakim early that morning, when he was on his way to work. They had been wearing Egyptian dress, but, the fellow added, the Father of Curses could not be mistaken
for any other man. He had been tempted to follow, but he was late for his work and they were going too fast. Yes, that way, towards Deir el Bahri.

He and several of the other men trailed along, speculating and discussing the matter. The sun was low and the shallow, well-remembered bay was deep in shadow. Ramses thought he saw a darker
shadow, slim and supple as a snake, move rapidly along the broken ground to the south. He might have imagined it, and just then it was the least of his concerns.

One look into the shaft told him they had come to the right place. It was four feet deep in rubble – not the drift of sand and random bits of rock that might have accumulated naturally,
but new fill, broken stone. Not far from the opening lay a rough wooden ladder and a crumpled basket.

‘My God,’ Nefret gasped. ‘He was filling in the shaft. They must be . . . Mother! Father, can you hear me?’

The uneven surface of the fill moved, shifted, subsided. Using language he had never before employed in their presence, Selim fell flat on the ground, reached down and snatched a handful of
chips. ‘They are under it! They are still alive, they are moving! Hurry – Daoud – ’

‘Hold on,’ Ramses said, ducking to avoid the chips Selim had flung frantically over his shoulder. ‘There’s the basket Jamil must have used. Leave it to Daoud.’

‘Yes,’ said Daoud placidly. ‘There is no hurry. Look.’ Another shift of the stone surface resulted in a further subsistence – no more than an inch, but now Ramses
saw what Daoud’s calmer mind had grasped. Someone was digging the stone out from below, a little at a time.

‘They will be in the passage,’ Daoud went on, climbing down into the shaft and taking the basket Selim handed him. ‘We will soon have them out.’

There wasn’t anything they could do to help Daoud except empty the basket as soon as he handed it up. Ramses fought the urge to join him in the shaft, but only one person could work
efficiently in the narrow space. It was not long, though it seemed an eternity to the anxious watchers, before a break in the solid wall of the shaft became visible – the squared-off lintel
of the entrance to the side passage.

It was filled to the top with broken stone.

Ramses lost the last remnants of his calm. ‘Father!’ he shouted at the top of his lungs. ‘Mother, for God’s sake – ’

Daoud stopped digging. In the silence Ramses heard sounds of activity behind that ominous blockage. An irregular gap, less than two inches deep, appeared, and an eerily distorted, very irritated
voice was heard.

‘Ramses, is that you? I trust you did not allow him to escape. Is Daoud with you? He will have to empty the entire shaft, the cursed stones keep trickling down into the passage. Though
“trickle” is perhaps an inappropriate word.’

After Ramses had drawn his first full breath in what felt like hours, he persuaded his garrulous mother to retreat farther down the passage. She continued to shout instructions and questions,
and they shouted questions back at her – a fairly futile exercise, since Daoud had gone back to work with renewed energy and the crash and rattle of stone drowned out most of the words.
Ramses shouted along with the rest of them. He had been utterly taken aback by the intensity of his relief when he heard his mother’s voice, and a distant bellow from Emerson. This
wasn’t the first time they had been in trouble, not by a long shot, and he had always worried about them, but for some reason he had never fully realized how much he loved and needed them.
The very qualities that sometimes irritated him were the qualities he would miss most: his mother’s infuriating self-confidence and awful aphorisms, his father’s belligerence and awful
temper. After all the adventures they had survived with their usual aplomb, it would be horribly ironic if they met their final defeat (he couldn’t even think the other word) at the hands of
the most contemptible opponent they had ever faced.

I’m getting to be as superstitious as Mother, he thought. It hasn’t happened. It isn’t going to happen.

His mother’s half-heard orders had provided enough information to save valuable time. Some of their followers ran off and came back with enough wood to make a litter as well as a splint
for Emerson’s arm. The light of several torches brightened the increasing darkness and one overly enthusiastic helper got a basketful of rock square on the chin as he leaned over the shaft
offering unnecessary advice.

As soon as the space was clear enough, Ramses dropped down and crawled into the passage. It was half-filled with bits of stone, which sloped down towards the far end. His mother hadn’t sat
waiting to be rescued; she had scooped the stuff out from below as Jamil dumped it in above. She hadn’t been able to keep up with him, but that was his mother for you – ‘every
little bit helps’, she would have told herself, and, ‘Never give up hope’. Something caught in his throat. He hurried on towards the square opening at the far end, which glowed
with faint light.

He took in the scene in a single glance, by the light of the failing torch – the pile of rugs on which Emerson was lying, the jars, the stores of food – and his mother, sitting on
the floor with her back against the wall, dredging peas out of a tin with her fingers.

‘Ah, there you are, my dear,’ she said. ‘And Nefret too? How nice.’

Her face was filthy, her hair grey with stone dust. Arms and shoulders were bare and as dirty as her face; the garment that more or less covered the upper part of her body had narrow ruffled
straps, yards of lace, and several little pink bows.

Ramses was unable to speak or move. Nefret had gone at once to Emerson and was examining his arm. She let out a choked laugh. ‘She’s used the ribs and shaft of the parasol for a
splint!’

‘Once again proving, if proof were needed, the all-round usefulness of a good stout parasol,’ said his mother.

Peas went flying as Ramses snatched her up and hugged her.

All’s well that ends well,’ I remarked, sipping my whiskey and soda.

The axiom was trite, I confess, but I do not believe it deserved the general grumble of disapproval it received. They were all there on the veranda, even Katherine. Dinner was going to be very
late, since Fatima had been too agitated to instruct the cook when she learned that not only we, but Ramses and Nefret and Daoud and Selim, had vanished into thin air, somewhere between Sheikh Abd
el Gurneh and the western cliffs. Cyrus and Bertie had waited less than an hour before going in pursuit; finding the horses still in Mohammed’s charge and with no idea of where to look next,
they had returned to the house in the hope that some or all of us had returned.

I cannot say that anyone behaved sensibly. Cyrus had sent for his wife, Sennia demanded that she be allowed to take the Great Cat of Re out to look for Ramses, and Gargery had to be forcibly
restrained from dashing wildly out of the house waving a pistol. His grumbles, on the monotonous theme of ‘going off like that without me’ were the loudest of all.

‘Do be still, Gargery’ I said sternly. ‘And the rest of you. We had no choice but to act at once.’

‘Quite,’ said Emerson, who was having some difficulty smoking his pipe and drinking his whiskey with only one serviceable arm. Nefret had tended to him; he had a nice neat cast and a
proper sling. Nefret had admitted, in confidence, that she had made the cast twice as heavy and thick as was usual, since she knew he would keep hitting it against things. I saw the logic of this,
though I knew it would mean a few more shirts ruined. I had had to cut a long slit in the sleeve of the one he was wearing so he could get it over the cast.

‘Well, mebbe so,’ Cyrus conceded. ‘But you four should have left word with someone. You knew we’d be worried.’

Ramses began, ‘I’m very – ’