The Hippopotamus Pool (8 page)

"Then you will not be interested in what I learned today."

Emerson rose to his feet. "Almost certainly not."

His blue eyes took on a familiar gleam as he watched me. I reached for my wrapper.

"What are you doing?" Emerson demanded.

"That should be obvious. Oh dear, I seem to have got my arm in the wrong sleeve. You might give me a hand here, Emerson."

Emerson did so. Flinging the offending garment onto the bed, he wrapped his arms around me and said resignedly, "All right, Peabody, you are determined to tell me, so we may as well get it over with. What is it, assault, theft, murder?"

"It may be murder. The body has disappeared."

"Whose body?"

"Ali's body."

"Which Ali? There are dozens of them among our acquaintances."

"Ali the suffragi. There is another man on duty this evening. When I asked after Ali, the fellow said he had left his position—gone off, without a word. You see what that means, Emerson."

"Of course," said Emerson. "He was murdered. What else could have happened? There is no other conceivable reason why an individual would fail to turn up for work. The little matter of a missing corpse—"

"The Nile is near at hand, Emerson."

"So are the opium dens, Peabody. And the houses of prostitution."

In that he was unfortunately correct. The area immediately behind the hotel was one into which no lady would venture, even when escorted.

"Emerson, you rambled on quite unnecessarily this afternoon about tomb robbers and other subjects. Was it to prevent Ramses from pursuing his inquiries about Signor Riccetti's habits?"

"It certainly was not a subject I cared to discuss. Particularly in the presence of Nefret."

"You can tell me, though."

Emerson hesitated for a time. Then he shrugged and said with some irritation, "I don't know why I bother trying to keep such things from you, Peabody. Your own lurid imagination has probably supplied the answer. Nothing was too vile for Riccetti. Assassination, murder, torture—and intimidation. His rivals knew that if they defied him, not only they but their friends and families would be at risk. Even their children."

He had said enough. Intelligence and imagination (both of which I possess to an unusual degree) combined to present a series of ghastly pictures. It is impossible to guard all those one loves every instant of every day, and children are particularly vulnerable.

Even mine. "Emerson," I cried, "Ramses and Nefret must be warned. She is not so timid and helpless as you believe, and she will be better able to guard herself if she knows the truth."

"Now, Peabody." Emerson's grasp tightened protectively. "Do you suppose that bastard would dare attack
my
wife or
my
children? He knows better. Come to bed, my dear, and forget your fancies."

Yet a strange foreboding (of the sort that frequently comes upon me) told me he was no more persuaded than I.

       CHAPTER THREE

Abstinence, As I Have Often Observed, Has a Deleterious Effect on the Disposition

In a social sense our little dinner party

was a great success. How could it be otherwise, with so many old acquaintances gathered together, discussing Egyptology and engaging in harmless (I engage in no other variety) gossip about absent friends? Among the latter were Professor Petrie and the lady he had recently espoused. They were absent, at any rate, though Emerson would probably describe Petrie as a friendly rival rather than a friend. (And he might omit the adjective.) As for myself, I had only the kindest of feelings toward Mrs. Petrie, even if she had consistently refused my invitations and (I had been informed) made several critical remarks about me.

The Reverend Mr. Sayce gave me an entertaining description of Mrs. Petrie. His initial introduction to her had occurred when she was descending a ladder, and the clerical eyes had been shocked by seeing, under her loose tunic, bare calves and breeches reaching only to the knee.

Realizing somewhat belatedly that a derogatory comment about ladies in trousers might imply criticism of present company, he had hastily added, "Now in your case, Mrs. Emerson, it is quite different. Your Turkish— er—trousers are quite ... They are not so ..."

"Form-fitting?"

The Reverend blushed. I could not resist teasing him just a little, so I went on gaily, "But you have not yet seen my new working costume, Mr. Sayce. My Turkish—er—trousers were too voluminous for convenience; I have replaced them with trousers less generously cut, but of course I wear a long jacket reaching below—if you will excuse me for mentioning them—the hips. I will just give Mrs. Petrie some friendly hints next time I meet her. Where are they working this year?"

The Reverend gratefully availed himself of this change of subject.

A number of our friends had been unable to attend the party. M. Maspero, who had (amid general rejoicing) returned to his post as head of the Antiquities Department, was in Luxor with Howard Carter, the new Inspector of Antiquities for Upper Egypt. It was a splendid advancement for Howard, and at my suggestion we all raised a glass to congratulate him and Mr. Quibell, who held the corresponding post in Lower Egypt.

I had placed Mr. Newberry between myself and Emerson. Since Nefret and I were the only ladies present, the proper balance of male and female was impossible, and I might well have ignored this rule anyhow since I was extremely curious to discover why Emerson had been so keen on the sort of social meeting he usually protested with teeth bared. I might as well have spared myself the trouble. Emerson spoke not a word that gave me the slightest clue, nor would he discuss the subject later when we were alone. I was so vexed with him I thought seriously of refusing to participate in the activities he initiated in order to distract me. However, since I knew distraction was not Emerson's sole reason for initiating those activities, it would have been childish and petty-minded of me to object.

We went on board the dahabeeyah next morning. It had been a singularly uneventful three days, with no word from the Hippopotamus Man, as Nefret called him, or the mysterious Mr. Shelmadine. There had not even been a body pulled from the Nile. So I was informed, at least, by the gentleman at police headquarters, which I visited one afternoon when Emerson thought I was paying calls. (In fact I was paying calls—on the police. I deplore prevarication and only resort to it when circumstances demand it.)

My aversion to prevarication compels me to add that Ali the suffragi had not been pulled from the Nile either, for the simple reason that Ali had never been in it. He had returned to his duties the day after I had observed his absence, claiming he had been ill. He appeared to be quite touched by my interest in his health (though that did not prevent him from requesting additional baksheesh). The information he provided was not worth additional baksheesh (though that did not prevent me from giving it, on general principles). He had not seen our visitor leave, nor had he observed anything unusual that night. He had been busy running errands and attending to the needs of the other guests in his charge.

It was all very discouraging. I could only hope that something interesting would develop soon.

However, the pleasure of being once more on board ship, and the innumerable duties that awaited me—hanging curtains, arranging stores, discussing menus with the cook, instructing the steward in the proper method of brewing tea—kept me busy and occupied. So did the little fits of temper and general grumpiness that prevailed among the crewmen and servants. The month-long fast of Ramadan had begun; eating and drinking are forbidden between sunrise and sunset, and abstinence, as I have often observed, has a deleterious effect on the disposition. The intemperate noctural gorging that succeeded the setting of the sun had equally unfortunate effects. It was all part of life in Egypt and I had become accustomed to coping with it.

I fully expected that after a few days Emerson would regret his decision and begin complaining about the slowness of our progress. However, he had arranged for a tug to accompany us. Romantic it was not, but the ugly little boat was preferable to the old custom of ordering the crewmen to the tow ropes whenever the wind failed—especially since Emerson had been in the habit of stripping to the waist and going out to "give the poor fellows a hand."

He did not complain. He was fully absorbed in some mysterious research that occupied him all day and half the night. To my extreme annoyance he refused to discuss it with me, saying only, "It will be made clear at the proper time, Peabody. I want to get my arguments in order before I present them to you." And with that I had to be content.

When my duties permitted, I sat on the upper deck. There is not a great deal to see in the way of pyramids after one leaves the Cairo area, but as the banks glide slowly by and green fields are succeeded by picturesque cliffs, a mood of lazy contentment seizes the watcher. Nefret spent a good deal of her time there, reading and studying and, I felt certain, daydreaming about the subjects that occupy a girl of her age. I could only hope the hero of those daydreams was not the dastardly Sir Edward.

The stewards fought for the privilege of waiting upon her. She had won their hearts by treating them with the same smiling courtesy with which she behaved to everyone (except Ramses—he had fallen back into his old habits, which was only to be expected, and Nefret responded as was only to be expected of
her).
She had lived among dark-skinned people all her life. Some had been her inferiors in rank, some her superiors; some had been villains of the deepest dye, others the noblest of men. She knew what some people never learn: that each individual is to be judged on his own merits and that superficial physical characteristics have nothing to do with character.

Busy as I was, I did not neglect my Egyptological studies. I had become known for my little translations of Egyptian fairy tales and legends. I had a new one to work on this year, and I spent several hours each day in the saloon in Emerson's company (though all I ever got from him in the way of conversation were the usual muttered expletives when he hit a snag). Emboldened by my growing skill in translating the hieroglyphs, I had decided to try my hand at hieratic, the cursive script used on papyrus in place of the ornamental but cumbersome picture writing which was employed on monuments. The hieratic of the particular papyrus I had selected was particularly elegant, and fairly close in form to hieroglyphs, but I was brooding over a particular squiggle one afternoon three days after our departure, when Emerson threw down his pen, rose, and spoke.

"How is it going, Peabody?"

"Quite well," I said, casually sliding a sheet of paper over one of the books as Emerson came to me and looked over my shoulder.

"Hieratic? How adventurous of you, my dear. I thought you always asked Walter to transliterate your documents into hieroglyphs."

"He was so preoccupied this year, I didn't like to ask. It is excellent hieratic, as you see."

"As hieratic goes," said Emerson, whose interests incline toward excavation rather than linguistics. "What is the text?"

"Apophis and Sekenenre. I intend to give it a new title, of course. 'The Hippopotamus Pool.'"

Emerson did not reply, so I went on to explain. "You remember the historical context? The invading Hyksos had conquered most of Egypt, but the valiant princes of Thebes held out against them. Then to the ruler of Thebes, Sekenenre, came an insolent message from the heathen king, hundreds of miles to the north in Avaris: 'The roaring of the hippopotami in your pools prevents me from sleeping! Hunt them and kill them, that I may rest.'"

"A somewhat free rendering," said Emerson dryly. Before I could prevent him, he twitched the paper away. "Ah. You are borrowing from Maspero's translation."

"I am not borrowing from it," I said in a dignified manner. "I am
referring
to it and to various other versions—just to check one against the other."

"Quite proper," said Emerson. "Would you be willing to interrupt your work? And send for the children, if that is agreeable to you. It is time we had a little conference."

"Ah, indeed? You are condescending to inform us of our future plans?"

"I told you I wanted to get my thoughts in order. I have now done so, to such good effect that I am even willing to risk the disruption of those thoughts by our son. Go and fetch him and Nefret, will you, my dear?"

I sent one of the stewards after Nefret, who was, as usual, on deck, but deemed it advisable to collect Ramses myself. The servants had refused to enter Ramses's room ever since the time one of them had gone there to change the bed linens and been confronted by a strange man with a wen on his forehead and a hideous scar drawing his upper lip into a snarl. (Ramses's notions of disguise, at which art he had become only too proficient, ran at that time to the melodramatic.) I had made him remove and reassume the wen, the scar and the snarl in the presence of the assembled staff, but they preferred to believe in his magical powers.

That day I was confronted, not by a character out of sensational fiction, but by a stench so appalling I stepped back, pinching my nostrils together.

"Ramses, are you mummifying things again?"

Ramses turned from his workbench. "I told you, Mother, that I have given up the study of mummification for the present, having ascertained to my satisfaction that my basic theory is correct. In order to refine that theory it would be necessary for me to mummify a human cadaver, which, given current laws and social attitudes, seems a difficult if not impossible—"

"Thank heaven for that. What are you—No, never mind, don't tell me. Come along; your father wants to see us."

"He is ready, then, to take us into his confidence?"

"So I believe. Hurry and wash your hands. And your face. And change your shirt. What are those peculiar—No, don't tell me. Just change it."

Ramses obeyed, retiring modestly behind a screen in order to replace the offending garment—a somewhat absurd procedure, since, like his father, he was accustomed when on the dig to go about bare to the waist. When he was ready we started for the saloon.

"Please do refrain from interrupting your father every few minutes, Ramses," I said. "He is the most affectionate of parents, but the habit would irritate anyone, and I don't want him to be distracted."

"Yes, Mother," said Ramses.

Emerson had arranged the chairs in a semicircle facing the table he used as a desk, and was sitting behind it trying to look professorial but not succeeding because Nefret was perched on the arm of his chair. When we had all taken our seats, Emerson cleared his throat and began.

"We will be working in western Thebes this season, in the Seventeenth Dynasty cemetery. I have every expectation of discovering a royal tomb— that of Queen Tetisheri."

"But Emerson," I exclaimed. "You said—"

Emerson fixed me with a hard stare. "If you will allow me, Peabody."

"I beg your pardon, my dear. But you said—"

"The ring Saleh—Shelmadine .. . Why do so many of the people we encounter have more than one name? That ring and Shelmadine's fantastic story did not affect my decision. It had been made before we arrived in Cairo.

"As you all know, the third volume of my
History of Egypt,
on which I am presently at work, begins with the rulers of the Seventeenth Dynasty. It is a very confused period about which little is known, and I realized some time ago that it would be necessary for me to conduct further excavations in the area before I could hope to present a coherent account.

"This resolution was strengthened last spring, when we spent several weeks at Abydos before returning to England. Despite the fact that our work was once again interrupted by events I need not recount, since they are known to you all—for though Nefret was not with us, I feel certain she has been apprised of the details by Gargery and both of you .. ."*

He stopped, having lost track of where the sentence had got to, and began again. "Despite those interruptions, we discovered a shrine containing a stela that mentions Queen Tetisheri."

"A remarkable discovery," said Ramses. Turning to Nefret, he explained, "Abydos was the holiest city in Egypt, the burial place of the god Osiris. Memorials to the dead were often erected at Abydos even when the persons so honored were buried elsewhere. Such was the case with Tetisheri. The inscription on the stela we found describes how her grandson, King Ahmose, raised a memorial shrine to her at Abydos. According to my translation of the text of the stela—"

"I have here," said Emerson loudly, "a translation of the text made by your uncle Walter. You will admit his authority, I hope? Thank you. He will appreciate your condescension. Now as you all know, the stela made something of a stir in archaeological circles. A good many people knew of it, and some may have anticipated my decision—"

"To return to Abydos this season?" I inquired. I trust my voice and expression did not show the disappointment I felt. Much work remains to be done at Abydos, but it is not one of my favorite sites. There are not even any pyramids worth mentioning.