Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [12]
“Perhaps Mr. Lucas could suggest a solution,” Lacau said, adding, presumably for Martinelli’s benefit, “he is the government chemist.”
“I know who he is,” said the Italian. His disgust was so great as to cause him to bare his stained teeth. “He can teach Martinelli nothing, monsieur.”
God the Father shot him a look before which most people would have quailed, and I hastened to spread the soothing oil of tact upon the troubled waters.
“There are several similar garments, Monsieur Lacau, still folded in the chests. It took Signor Martinelli almost a month to deal with this robe. If the worst should happen, the garment can be reconstructed. We have numerous photographs, and in a few weeks we hope to have a precise colored scale drawing, of this and several other objects.”
“Made by whom?” the director inquired. “Mr. Carter?”
“David Todros. He and the rest of our family will be joining us next week, and I know he is itching to get at the job. You remember him, of course?”
“Ah, yes. The Egyptian boy who once worked for a notorious forger here in Luxor, making fake antiquities?”
“Now a trained Egyptologist and skilled artist,” said Emerson, who had controlled himself quite well up to that time, but who resented the condescension in Lacau’s voice. “He is married to my brother’s daughter, monsieur, in case that had escaped your attention.”
“You are fortunate indeed to have so many experts on your staff,” Lacau said somewhat stiffly. He turned to Ramses. “How are you getting on with the written material?”
“As you know, sir, there wasn’t much,” Ramses replied. “Only the inscriptions on the coffins and miscellaneous notations on some chests and boxes. The copies of the Book of the Dead require careful handling. I have not had the time to give them the attention they deserve.”
“The arrival of your uncle will no doubt be welcome,” Lacau said.
He was referring to Walter, but I could tell by Ramses’s involuntary start that he had been reminded of his other uncle. I only hoped to goodness that Sethos would not decide to pay us a visit. He liked to drop in without advance notice. I had not heard from him for several months, at which time he had been in Germany. I assumed he was there on behalf of the Secret Service; he had been one of Britain’s top intelligence agents since the beginning of the war and was, to the best of my knowledge, still involved in the business.
In one corner of the room, lying in simple wooden cases lined with unbleached cotton, were the owners of all that splendor. Only an individual insensitive to the mystery of death could fail to pay those shrouded forms the tribute of silent reverence. M. Lacau was unmoved.
“You removed them from the coffins,” he said, frowning.
I took it upon myself to reply to the implicit and undeserved criticism. “It was necessary, monsieur. The wood of which three of the coffins were made was dry and brittle and many of the inlays were loose. Before they could be moved they were stabilized, inside and out, with a compound of Signor Martinelli’s invention. You see the results, which are, in my opinion, quite excellent.”
“Yes, of course,” Lacau said. “I see you have resisted the temptation to unwrap the ladies,” he went on, with a nod at Nefret. “You have had, I believe, some experience.”
“She is a trained surgeon and anatomist,” I said indignantly. “No one could do a better—”
“Naturally I wouldn’t dream of touching them without your permission, Monsieur Lacau,” Nefret said quickly. “Nor in fact would I like to see it done. The wrappings are in perfect condition, and the mummies have been undisturbed since they were placed in their coffins—unlike all the other royal mummies we have. It would be a sin to rip them apart.”
“You feel strongly about this, madame,” Lacau said, stroking his beard. “But what of the ornaments, the amulets, the jewels, that are unquestionably to be found on the bodies?”
“We have many beautiful pieces of jewelry,” Nefret