Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [75]
“You are very late, Emerson,” I said reproachfully. “Really, it is a shame! And have you been showing those children pictures of disgusting mummies, after I strictly forbade . . . after I requested that you refrain from doing so?”
Not at all discomposed by this double-barreled attack, Emerson addressed a general smile and mumble of greeting at our guests and went at once to the sideboard, where he began pouring from various decanters. He had not abandoned the argument, however. Over his shoulder he remarked, “I am not the latest, my dear. Ramses and Walter are still to come.”
“That only makes it worse, Emerson. Why don’t you go and find them?”
“Such a fuss about nothing,” said Emerson, handing me a glass. “There you are, Peabody; drink your whiskey and behave yourself. I hear them coming now.”
They came in together, so absorbed in conversation that I verily believe Walter was unaware of his surroundings until Ramses, who had him firmly by the arm, brought him to a stop and directed his attention to the others.
“I say, I am sorry,” Walter exclaimed, blinking. “Have we kept you waiting? It is entirely my fault. I came across a particularly fascinating text, and wanted to consult Ramses about one or two obscure words. It seems to be—”
“Sit down, Walter, and be quiet,” said Emerson amiably. “No one wants to hear about your obscure philological interests. Vandergelt, I was surprised not to see you at Deir el Medina in recent days. Are you abandoning your part of the concession?”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” said Cyrus, stroking his goatee. “Those tombs are mine, and I’ll be back at work pretty soon. We’ve been busy.”
“Doing what?” Emerson demanded in honest surprise.
Fatima announced dinner and we withdrew to the dining room. Cyrus began explaining to Emerson in a somewhat indignant voice that the preservation and recording of the treasures of the God’s Wives took precedence over other activities at this time—facts Emerson knew perfectly well, but preferred to ignore because he had his own plans.
The only thing I have against large parties is that it is impossible to keep track of everything that is being said. We are—I say it without apology—a wordy lot, and since we are also an intelligent lot, our conversations are worth listening to. Even Bertie had perked up and was talking animatedly to Lia. (I had seated him next to her, since she was less likely to interrupt him than some of the others.) Then I heard an isolated phrase and realized he was extolling the virtues of his absent beloved, Jumana.
Not until the end of the meal did the discussion become general. It was a comment of Emerson’s, delivered in his usual ringing tones, that caught everyone’s attention.
“I see no reason why we should do anything about it.”
“About what?” I inquired.
Emerson had addressed Ramses, who took it upon himself to answer me. “About the attack on Molly—Maryam—this afternoon. I suggested to Father that we must make an attempt to locate her assailant.”
“Right,” Cyrus agreed. “We can’t have that sort of thing going on. With all respect to your theories, Amelia, the most likely explanation is that the fellow is demented. He may attack other tourists. How do you propose to go about it?”
“For one thing, the police must be notified,” Ramses said, over Emerson’s grumbles. “And Father is the one to do it. They’ll listen to him. I also suggest offering a reward, starting with our fellows tomorrow morning. They know everyone on the West Bank and they will spread the word.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed. “Emerson?”
“Oh, curse it, I suppose I must,” Emerson muttered.
“Tomorrow morning,” I said.
“Tomorrow afternoon,” said Emerson.
I agreed with a show of reluctance that persuaded Emerson he had won the argument. In fact, the timing suited me very well. There were several other matters I meant to attend to while we were in Luxor.
WE PUT PART OF RAMSES’S scheme into operation as soon as we arrived at Deir el Medina the following