He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [69]
“I disguised my voice,” Emerson said, with great satisfaction.
“Not a Russian accent, Emerson!”
Emerson wrapped a muscular arm round my waist and squeezed. “Never you mind, Peabody. The point is, I got through to him and was able to reassure him on certain points. So for God’s sake don’t go marching into his office this afternoon. Were you planning to accompany Nefret to Cairo or go alone?”
“I was going with her. I may yet. Only . . .”
“Only what?”
“While you were at the house, did you happen to look in on Ramses?”
Emerson’s face took on an expression of elaborate unconcern. “I thought so long as I was there, I might as well. He was sleeping.”
“Oh. Are you certain he—”
“Yes.” Emerson squeezed my ribs again. “Peabody, not even you can be in two places at once. Get back to your rubbish heap.”
“Two places! Three or four, rather. Zawaiet, the tomb here, the house—”
“The suk with Nefret. Go with her, my dear, and keep her out of the way so we won’t have to repeat the wearying maneuvers we executed yesterday.”
“Will David be there when we come back? I would like to see him once more.”
“Don’t talk as if you were planning to bid him a final farewell,” Emerson growled. “We’ll put an end to this business soon, I promise you. As for tonight, I told him to go straight back to the house from Zawaiet; he won’t leave until after dark, so you will see him then. Run along now.”
Several slightly interesting objects turned up in the fill that was being removed from the second chamber. The bits of bone and mummy wrappings and wooden fragments indicated that there had been a later burial above the mastaba. By the Twenty-Second Dynasty—to which period I tentatively assigned this secondary interment—the mastabas of Giza had been deserted for over a thousand years, and the sand must have lain deep upon their ruins. It had not been much of a burial, and even it showed signs of having been robbed.
Emerson dismissed Nefret and me shortly after 2 P.M. and we returned to the house to change. I chattered loudly and cheerfully with Nefret as we walked along the corridor to our sleeping chambers. There was no sound from behind Ramses’s closed door.
“What sort of experiment is he doing?” Nefret asked.
“I believe he is hoping to develop a preservative that will protect wall paintings without darkening or damaging them.” I hurried her past. “It smells horrid, but then most of his experiments do.”
I had hoped for an opportunity to peek in on him before we left, but I had not quite finished dressing before Nefret joined me to ask if I would button her up the back. Several of the younger women of Abdullah’s family would have been delighted to take on the position of lady’s maid, but like myself, Nefret scorned such idle attentions. So I obliged, and she did the same for me, and we went down together, to find Daoud waiting for us.
“The Father of Curses said I should go with you,” he explained, his large, honest face beaming. “To guard you from harm.”
We could not have had a more formidable escort. Daoud was even taller than my tall husband, and correspondingly broad. He was no longer a young man, but most of his bulk was solid muscle. He would have liked nothing better than to fight a dozen men in our defense.
Smiling, Nefret took his arm. “We are only going to the Khan el Khalili, Daoud. I’m afraid nothing of interest will occur.”
Normally shy and taciturn, Daoud was quite a conversationalist when he was with us. He demanded news of his absent friends, particularly Lia, to whom he was devoted. “She should be here,” he declared, his brow furrowing. “Where you and Kadija and Fatima and the Sitt Hakim could care for her.”
I had earned my name of Lady Doctor in my early days in Egypt, when physicians were few and far between; some of our devoted men still preferred my attentions even to those of Nefret, who was far better qualified than I. Modestly I disclaimed any skill in obstetrics, adding, “She felt too unwell to risk the sea voyage, Daoud, and travel now would be unwise. She will have the