Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [93]
Somewhat belatedly he became aware of the unblinking stares of his companions. “Quite a coincidence, isn’t it?” he asked uncertainly.
David was the first to speak. “Yes. Quite a coincidence.”
“And that is all it is,” Emerson declared with considerable vehemence. “Coincidence is the foundation of all the occult sciences—coincidence, and the desire to believe. One fortuitously accurate guess is remembered by the gullible, while a thousand inaccurate predictions are forgotten. Even if the date proved to be . . .” His voice trailed off.
“What is the date, Uncle Walter?” Nefret asked.
Walter looked at the paper. “Third month of Akhet, day nineteen. In modern terms . . . Impossible to say offhand. As you are all aware, the Egyptian calendar consisted of three hundred and sixty-five days, but since the solar year is actually longer than that, the Egyptians were one day off every four years or so. It would be difficult to calculate the correspondence. One might try, of course . . .”
“One won’t,” declared Emerson. “It would be a complete waste of time. Gargery, what do you want? Don’t bother removing the tea things now.”
“It’s no trouble, sir,” said Gargery, collecting cups.
“Good of you to say so,” said Emerson sarcastically. “I assure you, Gargery, you won’t be missing a thing. We are discussing an ancient Egyptian text.”
“Yes, sir. However, sir, I couldn’t help overhearing—”
“Damnation!” Emerson shouted. “Eavesdropping again?”
“I happened to be passing by the door, sir.” Gargery’s face took on an expression of hurt reproach. “That there calendar Mr. Walter was reading from—”
“Is a pack of nonsense,” Emerson broke in.
“Well, sir, those Egyptians may have been heathens, but they knew things. It seems to me that you ought to read more of it and find out what else is going to happen.”
Ramses cleared his throat. “Speaking of the papyrus, Father, I’ve been wondering if I might—”
“Curse it!” Emerson shouted. “Damn you, Gargery, how many times have I told you—”
“Father,” Ramses said loudly. Emerson’s bulging eyes followed the wave of his hand toward the corner where Sennia sat, rigid with shocked surprise.
“Oh,” said Emerson. “Er. I didn’t see you, Sennia. I apologize for my language. I—”
“You should apologize to Gargery,” Sennia said severely. “He was only trying to help.”
“That is quite all right, sir,” said Gargery, with an infuriating smile. “I have said my say, as was my duty. Come along, Miss Sennia, it is time for your supper.”
They went out together, holding each other’s hands, and Emerson, still boiling with repressed fury, looked round for a victim. “See what you’ve done, Walter,” he exclaimed. “Filling that child’s head with nonsense!”
“It’s Gargery’s head that’s the problem,” Ramses murmured. “Father, I’ve been meaning to ask you—”
His father paid no attention. “And another thing, Walter. Will you kindly refrain, in future, from referring to our brother as—‘er—Sethos’? Can’t you pronounce the word without stuttering?”
The injustice of this brought a flush to Walter’s face, and he spoke up with unusual vehemence. “No, I cannot, Radcliffe. What sort of name is that for an Englishman and a Christian?”
“I don’t know that he is a Christian,” Emerson said, diverted. “Never asked.”
“Didn’t you ever ask his real name? Don’t tell me he was christened Sethos.”
“Thus far he has avoided our attempts to discover it,” Emerson said grumpily. “Why the devil don’t you ask him, if it is so important to you?” As far as he was concerned, that ended the discussion. He turned to me. “Isn’t it time for these children to go to bed?”
“Past time,” I said. “Nefret . . . Oh, she is still with Charla.”
“Superstitious idiot,” his father muttered. He meant Gargery, as his next words made plain. “He’ll tell Fatima and the rest