Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [101]
“It is forgotten, Emerson.”
“Oh, really? Are you sure,” inquired Emerson, “that you have not filed it away for future reference, along with my other sins?”
“My dear, I couldn’t possibly keep track of them all.”
Emerson chuckled, reached for me, glanced at Bertie, and let his arm fall to his side. “We gave the place a thorough search, Peabody. The ground had been trampled by bare and shod feet. The only thing we found was a scrap of fabric caught on the enclosure wall, on a section where it would be fairly easy to scramble over it. There is debris piled on both sides.”
He searched his pockets, and after removing pipe, tobacco pouch, scraps of pottery, and a variety of the odd items men carry about with them, produced a strip of white stuff, which he handed to me.
“Hmmm,” I said, examining it. “Fine linen, with, I do believe, the remains of pleating. I will keep this, if I may. Put your pipe away, Emerson, before you drop it. Why do you have a pocketful of nails?”
“I was putting up a sign,” Emerson explained, pricking his finger on one of the nails. He sucked it, and then went on, “A more emphatic sign, warning the cursed tourists off. One of them actually offered me money to pose for a photograph.”
“Kodaking has become another curse of the working archaeologist,” I agreed. “But I hope you didn’t strike him, Emerson.”
“It was a female,” said Emerson gloomily. “I couldn’t even swear at her. Lia had to do it for me, since you weren’t here.”
I decided I had better have a look at the sign. It began, “I will kill with my bare hands . . .” and went on in the same vein for several more sentences. While I was inspecting it, Selim, relieved of his surveying duties, joined me.
“I am to make another one, in Arabic,” he announced with a grin. “With the exact words.”
“We may as well do German and French too. Find more boards, Selim. Is there any news?”
“About last night? It is a great mystery, Sitt Hakim. The other men were as astonished as I.”
“Was it known in Gurneh that Ramses and the others were to be here?”
“Oh, yes, Sitt. They made no secret of it.” Selim delicately scratched his beard and glanced at me from under his lashes. “It is also widely known that the White Lady has come before, on the night of the full moon.”
“How many people have actually seen her?”
Selim thought about it, frowning. “It is a good question, Sitt. I have not spoken with any who saw her; they heard the stories, as did I, from others.”
“The women do not come here, seeking her favor? The ancients prayed to Hathor for happiness in love, and for children.”
“They would be afraid to come after dark, Sitt. They fear demons and ghosts.”
“Interesting,” I said thoughtfully.
“Yes, Sitt. But what does it mean?”
Another good question, and one to which I had no answer.
Selim had one piece of relatively good news. The boat had been located a few hundred yards downstream, run up against the bank. The men who had found it had immediately reported the discovery to Daoud; though the damage was extensive, it was not beyond repair, and the boat had already been towed to the landing near Luxor.
“Until the repairs on the boat are completed, Sabir is without a means of income,” I said, after we had all gathered round the luncheon basket. “Tell him to purchase another vessel, Daoud. We will pay for it, of course.”
“It will be a loan,” said Daoud firmly. “He will repay you.”
“Bah,” said Emerson. “It is our responsibility—unless Sabir had a business rival who resented his success. Can you think of any such man?”
“They are all jealous,” said Daoud proudly. “All the boatmen. Because Sabir made more money than they. But none would destroy another man’s boat, it would not—it would not be . . .”
“Honorable,” I suggested, as Daoud groped for the right word. “A matter of professional ethics.”
“Yes,” said Daoud, relieved. He looked inquiringly at the last of the sandwiches and I said, “Take it, Daoud, the rest of us