The Golden One (9 page)

Seeing Ramses’s expression, Musa jumped back a few feet and began to babble. ‘Do not strike me, Brother of Demons, she is not hurt, she is safe, I will take you to her.’

‘Damned right you will.’ Ramses’s hand shot out, catching Musa’s stringy arm in a bruising grip. ‘Where is she?’

‘Come. Come with me, it is not far. She is unharmed, I tell you. Would any of us dare injure – ’

‘Shut up. Which way?’

Knowing he was no longer in imminent danger of violence, Musa said plaintively, ‘You are hurting my arm, Brother of Demons. I can walk faster if you do not hold on to me. I will not run
away. I was ordered to bring you to her.’

Ramses didn’t bother to ask who had given the order. He released his grip and brushed at the enterprising fleas that had already found his hand. ‘Where?’

‘This way, this way.’ Musa trotted ahead, around a corner and through a pile of discarded fruit rinds and peelings that squelched under his bare feet. ‘This way,’ he said
again, and turned his head to nod reassuringly at Ramses. ‘Do you have a cigarette?’

‘Don’t push me too far, Musa.’

He was no longer worried about Nefret, though. The man who must be responsible for this would not harm her. They ended up where Ramses had expected: in an outstandingly filthy alley behind the
house el-Gharbi had once occupied. Musa went to the small inconspicuous door Ramses remembered from earlier visits. The police had barricaded it with heavy boards, but someone had removed most of
the nails; Musa pulled the planks aside and climbed through the opening.

The house that had once been alive with music and the other colourful accompaniments of a contemptible trade was dark, deserted, and dusty. The windows had been boarded up, the rich furnishings
removed or left to moulder. There was a little light, streaking through cracks in the boards. When they reached the room in which el-Gharbi had held court, Ramses made out a massive shape squatting
on the ruined cushions. Nefret sat next to him. A ray of sunlight sparked in her hair.

‘Sorry,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I did it again.’

Ramses got the words out through lips unsteady with relief. ‘Not your fault this time. Another black mark against you, el-Gharbi. What do you mean by this?’

‘But, my dear young friend, what choice had I?’ The voice was the well-remembered high-pitched whine, but as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Ramses saw that the procurer was dressed
in a ragged galabeeyah instead of his elegant white robes. He didn’t appear to have lost any weight, though. Shifting uncomfortably, he went on, ‘You would not come to the camp. You
would not have come to me here – so I invited your lovely wife. We have been having a most enjoyable conversation. Sit down, won’t you? I regret I cannot offer you tea –
’

‘What do you want?’ Ramses interrupted.

‘Why, the pleasure of seeing you and your lovely – ’

‘I don’t have
time
for this,’ Ramses said rather loudly. ‘You cannot keep us here against our will, you know.’

‘Alas, it is true.’ The procurer sighed. ‘I do not have the manpower I once had.’

‘What is your point, then?’

‘You won’t sit down? Oh, very well. It is the camp, you see. It is no place for a person of refinement like myself.’ A shudder of distaste ran through the huge body. ‘I
want out.’

‘You are out,’ Ramses said, unwilling amusement replacing his annoyance. El-Gharbi was unconquerable.

‘Only for a few hours. If I am not there tonight when they make the rounds, that rude person Harvey will turn out every police officer in Cairo to look for me. I do not intend to spend the
rest of my life running away from the police, it is too uncomfortable.’

‘Yes, I suppose it would be. Can you give me one good reason why I should intercede on your behalf, even if I were able?’

‘But my dear young friend, surely the many favours I have done for you – ’

‘And I have done several for you. If the score is not even, the debt is on your side.’

‘I was afraid you would see it that way. What of future favours, then? I am at your command.’

‘There is nothing I want from you. Nefret, let’s go. The parents will be getting anxious.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She rose. ‘Good-bye, Mr el-Gharbi.’

She used the English words, possibly because the Arabic terms of farewell invoked a blessing or an expression of goodwill. El-Gharbi didn’t miss the implications. He chuckled richly.

‘Maassalameh, honoured lady. And to you, my beautiful young friend. Remember what I have said. The time may come . . .’

‘I hope to God it won’t come,’ Ramses muttered, as they left the room. ‘Nefret, are you all right?’

‘Musa was very polite. No damage, darling, except . . .’ She scratched her arm. ‘Let’s hurry. I expect Father is frantic by this time, and I’m being devoured by
fleas.’

‘That makes two of us.’

‘My poor darling. What you suffer for me!’

The narrow back door was still unbarred. Ramses did not bother replacing the boards.

Taking the coward’s way out, he sent a servant to the dining salon to announce their return, and they went straight to their room and the adjoining bath chamber. When he emerged, wearing
only a towel, his father was sitting in an armchair, pipe in hand.

‘Where is she?’ he demanded.

‘Still bathing. I’ll tell her you’re here.’

‘Oh,’ said Emerson, belatedly aware of his intrusion on their privacy. ‘Oh. Er – ’

Ramses opened the door to the bath chamber and announced his father’s presence. Water splashed and Nefret called out, ‘I’ll be with you in a few minutes, Father.’

It wasn’t often that Ramses could embarrass his father and he was rather inclined to enjoy those moments. Emerson was blushing. ‘You’ve been the devil of a long time,’ he
complained. ‘We are due to leave in a few hours, you know.’

‘It couldn’t be helped.’ Ramses dressed as he told Emerson what had happened. He expected an outburst; Emerson had nothing but contempt for procurers in general and el-Gharbi
in particular. Instead of shouting, Emerson looked thoughtful.

‘I wonder if he knows anything about – um – Sethos.’

‘I didn’t ask. I don’t want to be in his debt, and I was in a hurry to get away. It’s highly unlikely, Father. The illegal antiquities trade was only a sideline, and
he’s been shut up in Hilmiya for weeks.’

‘Hmm, yes.’ Emerson brooded.

The door of the bath chamber opened and Nefret appeared, wreathed in steam. She was wrapped in a long robe that covered her from chin to bare feet, but Emerson fled, mumbling apologies.

Getting my family onto the train – any train – is a task that tries even my well-known patience. Emerson had sent Selim and Daoud on to Luxor a few days earlier, to
survey the site and determine what needed to be done. That left seven of us, not counting the cat, who was more trouble than anyone. The railroad station is always a scene of pure pandemonium;
people and luggage and parcels and an occasional goat mill about, voices are raised, and arms wave wildly. What with Horus shrieking and thrashing around in his basket, and Sennia trying to get
away from Gargery and Basima so she could dash up and down the platform looking for acquaintances, and Emerson darting suspicious glances at every man, woman, and child who came anywhere near him,
my attention was fully engaged.

The train was late, of course. After I had got everyone on board and in the proper compartment, I was more than ready for a refreshing sip of whiskey and soda. Removing the bottle, the gasogene,
and the glasses from the hamper, I invited Emerson to join me.

As I could have told him – and indeed, did tell him – it had been a waste of time to look for Sethos. He never did the same thing twice, and he had had ample time to communicate with
us had he chosen to do so.

Emerson said, ‘Bah,’ and poured more whiskey.

I had dispatched telegrams to the Vandergelts and to Fatima, our housekeeper, informing them of the change in schedule, but being only too familiar with the leisurely habits of the telegraph
office in Luxor, I was not surprised to find that no one was waiting to meet us at the station. No doubt the telegrams would be delivered later that day, after the unofficial telegraph, gossip, had
already announced our arrival. It did not go unremarked. There were always people hanging about the station, meeting arrivals and bidding farewell to departing travellers, or simply wasting time. A
great shout went up when the loungers recognized the unmistakable form of Emerson, who was – I believe I may say this without fear of contradiction – the most famous, feared, and
respected archaeologist in Egypt. Some crowded round and others dashed off, hoping to be the first to spread the news. ‘The Father of Curses has returned! Yes, yes, I saw him with my own
eyes, and the Sitt Hakim his wife, and his son the Brother of Demons, and Nur Misur, the Light of Egypt, and the Little Bird!’

It took some little time to unload our ‘traps’, as Emerson called them, and get them from the station to the riverbank and onto the boats which would take us across. I managed to
arrange matters so that Sennia was in one boat, with Basima and Gargery in close attendance – it required at least two people to hang on to her and keep her from falling overboard – and
Emerson and I in another. On this occasion I wanted to be alone with my dear husband.

‘Ah,’ I exclaimed. ‘How good it is to be back in Luxor.’

‘You always say that,’ Emerson grunted.

‘I always feel it. And so do you, Emerson. Breathe in the clear clean air,’ I urged. ‘Observe the play of sunlight on the rippling water. Enjoy once again the vista before us
– the ramparts of the Theban mountains enclosing the sepulchres of the long-dead monarchs of – ’

‘I suggest you write a travel book, Peabody, and get it out of your system.’ But his arm went round my waist and his broad breast expanded as he drew a long satisfied breath.

After all, there is no place like Thebes. I did not say this, since it would only have provoked another rude comment from Emerson, but I knew he shared my sentiments. The modern city of Luxor is
on the east bank, together with the magnificent temples of Karnak and Luxor. On the west bank is the enormous city of the dead – the sepulchres of the long-dead monarchs of imperial Egypt (as
I had been about to say when Emerson interrupted me), their funerary temples, and the tombs of nobles and commoners, in a setting unparalleled for its austere beauty. The stretch of land bordering
the river, fertilized by the annual inundation and watered by irrigation, was green with growing crops. Beyond it lay the desert, extending to the foot of the Libyan mountains – a high,
barren plateau cut by innumerable canyons or wadis. For many years we had lived and worked in western Thebes, and the house we had built was waiting for us. I moved closer to Emerson and his arm
tightened around me. He was looking straight ahead, his clean-cut features softened by a smile, his black hair wildly windblown.

‘Where is your hat, Emerson?’ I asked.

‘Don’t know,’ said Emerson.

He never does know. By the time I had located it and persuaded him to put it on, we were landing.

Fatima had not received our telegram. Not that it mattered; she had been eagerly awaiting us for days, and the house was in its usual impeccable order. I must say that our relations with Fatima
and the other members of Abdullah’s family who worked for us was somewhat unusual; they were friends as well as servants, and that latter word carried no loss of dignity or implication of
inferiority. Indeed, I believe Fatima thought of us as sadly lacking in common sense and of herself as in charge of the entire lot of us.

My first act, after we had exchanged affectionate greetings with Fatima, was to inspect our new quarters. The previous winter a remarkable archaeological discovery had necessitated our spending
some months in Luxor. Our old house was then occupied by Yusuf, the head of the Luxor branch of Abdullah’s family, but he had amiably agreed to move himself and his wives and children to an
abode in Gurneh village. It had not taken me long to realize that the house was no longer commodious enough for all of us to live in comfort and amity. I had therefore ordered several subsidiary
structures to be added. In spite of Emerson’s indifference and total lack of cooperation, I had seen the work well under way before our departure, but I had been obliged to leave the final
details to Fatima and Selim.

I invited Fatima to accompany me on my tour of inspection. Selim, who had been awaiting us, came along, not because he wanted to, but because I insisted. Like his father, he was never quite sure
how I would respond to his efforts along domestic lines. Abdullah had been inclined to wax sarcastic about what he considered my unreasonable demands for cleanliness. ‘The men are sweeping
the desert, Sitt,’ he had once remarked. ‘How far from the house must they go?’

Dear Abdullah. I missed him still. At least he had tried, which was more than Emerson ever did.

In fact, I found very little to disapprove, and Selim’s wary expression turned to a smile as I piled compliment upon compliment. The new wing, which I intended for Sennia and her entourage
– Basima, Gargery, and the cat – had a number of rooms surrounding a small courtyard, with a shaded arcade along one side and a charming little fountain in the centre. The new furniture
I had ordered had been delivered, and while we were there, one of the maids hurried in with an armful of linens and began to make up the beds.