He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [181]
Ramses knew his father had every intention of working that afternoon, no matter what anyone else did. His description of what they had found that morning made the discovery sound a good deal more interesting than it actually was, and Cyrus declared his intention of joining them.
“I doubt we’ll find an untouched burial,” Ramses warned him. “Those pottery sherds look like bits of the funerary equipment.”
“There may be something interesting left,” Cyrus said hopefully. “Katherine?”
“I suppose I may as well come too,” said his wife resignedly. “No, Amelia, I know you are aching to see what’s down there, and if I stay here you will feel obliged to stay with me. What about you, Anna?”
“I’m going to the hospital.” She looked challengingly at Nefret.
“You needn’t overdo it, Anna. I rang Sophia earlier; things are quiet just now and she promised to let me know if anything arose that required my presence—or yours.”
“You aren’t going in today?”
“No. I have other plans. You can spare me for a few hours, can’t you, Professor?”
“Where—” Emerson stopped himself and looked at his wife, who said, “Will you be back for dinner?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Enjoy yourself,” Anna said. “I shall go to the hospital. There is always something to be done.”
Nefret shrugged, excused herself, and left the room. She and Anna must have quarreled; their stiff smiles and sharp voices were the female equivalents of an exchange that would have ended in a brawl if they had been men.
“Be back in time for tea,” Katherine ordered.
“I will stay as long as I am needed,” Anna snapped. Without excusing herself, she left the table and the room.
“Now what is wrong with her?” Katherine demanded. “She has been in a much better frame of mind lately.”
“One must expect occasional relapses when dealing with the young,” said Ramses’s mother.
It took only half an hour to reach the burial chamber. Ramses was glad of the distraction the work provided; he knew the chance of finding an undisturbed burial was slight, but it always gave him a queer feeling to penetrate a chamber that had not been entered for thousands of years. This one opened off the south side of the shaft and was almost filled by a large stone coffin. It hadn’t given its owner the protection he wanted; his bones lay scattered on the floor beside the coffin, whose lid had been shifted just far enough to enable the thieves to drag the body out. They had overlooked only a single piece of jewelry: a small scarab which one of them must have dropped.
“They made a clean sweep, curse them,” said Emerson, after he had climbed up out of the shaft. He and Ramses and Selim had been the only ones to go down; Cyrus would have disregarded his wife’s objections if there had been anything to see, but he was not inclined to risk the crude wooden ladders for a few dried bones.
“Do you want photographs?” Ramses asked.
“It can wait until tomorrow,” his mother said firmly. “No thief is going to bother with those scraps. We have done enough for today. More than enough.”
The look she gave Ramses was pointed and somewhat reproachful. If she had had her way, he would have been in Cairo at this moment, making the arrangements he had promised to make. As he had tried to tell her, it wasn’t that simple. He had rung Russell before luncheon, only to learn that Russell was out of the office and wasn’t expected back until late afternoon. There was a prearranged signal—“inform him that Tewfik Bey has a camel for him.” He had left that message, and if Russell received it he would be at the Turf Club that night.
The others went back to the house. Ramses stayed on for a bit to help Selim clean up the site and cover the shaft. When he entered the courtyard Fatima darted out of the sitting room and intercepted him.
“There is someone here, to see you,” she whispered.
Wondering why she was behaving like a stage conspirator, he glanced round. “Where?