He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [88]
“Yes, Mother.” Ramses sat down rather heavily on the side of the bed. “Believe it or not, I had come to the same conclusion.”
“Good. Then all we need do is present the plan to Mr. Russell and insist he carry it out.”
“Insist?” He rubbed his unshaven chin, and the corners of his mouth turned up. “I suppose you have also worked out a method of communicating with Russell?”
“Yes, indeed. I will arrange for us to see him tomorrow at Giza. Just leave it to me.”
Ramses got slowly to his feet. Having undone the shirt buttons, he was not prepared to go further. He came to me and took me by the shoulders. “Very well, I will. Thank you. Please be careful.”
“Certainly. Have you ever known me to take unnecessary chances?”
His lips parted in one of his rare, unguarded smiles. I thought for a moment he would kiss my cheek, but he did not. He gave my shoulders a little squeeze and turned me toward the door. “Good night, Mother.”
With my mind now at ease, at least for the time being, I was able to sleep. It seemed to me my eyes had hardly closed before they opened again to see a familiar face in close proximity to mine.
“Ah,” said Emerson in a satisfied voice. “You are awake.”
He kissed me. I made wordless noises indicative of appreciation and approval, but Emerson soon left off kissing me and went to the washbasin.
“Up you get, my love. I have a feeling we will be deluged by curiosity seekers and I need you to fend them off with your parasol.”
I said, “Ramses is home, safe and sound.”
“I know. I looked in on him before I came here.”
“You didn’t wake him, did you?”
“He was already awake.” Emerson finished splashing water all over the floor and the washstand and himself, and reached for a towel. “Hurry and dress. I want that statue out and in a safe place before dark.”
I hastened to comply, for in fact I was not at all averse to playing the role of guard. It would give me an opportunity to inspect at close hand every visitor who approached. If ever there was an event to attract the interest of the Master Criminal, this was it—a new masterpiece of Egyptian art, not yet under lock and key. Surely, if he was in Cairo, he would be unable to resist the temptation to have a look at it. And as soon as I set eyes on him I would know him, whatever disguise he might assume.
I therefore took pains to collect all my weapons. When I strode into the dining room, parasol in hand, four pairs of eyes were focused on me.
“I could hear you jingling all the way down the hall,” remarked Emerson, rising to hold a chair for me.
Ramses, who had also risen, looked me over. “The mere sight of you bristling with weapons should deter any thief,” he said. “I presume there are more of them in your pockets?”
“Only a pair of handcuffs, a stocking, which I will fill with sand, and my pistol,” I replied. “That reminds me, Emerson; the release on my parasol has been sticking.”
“Oh, Sitt.” Fatima wrung her hands. “What is going to happen? Is there danger?”
“Nothing is going to happen,” Nefret said firmly.
“Possibly not, but it is always best to be prepared.” I smacked my egg with a spoon and lifted the top off. “Do you have your knife?”
Smiling, she pushed her coat back. The weapon was belted to her waist.
“Ramses?”
He had resumed his chair. “No. I feel certain Father and I can count on you two to protect us. Fatima, is there more bread?”
Fatima trotted off, shaking her head and murmuring to herself.
Emerson was not at all pleased to learn that I had invited Mr. Quibell to come by that morning. I had sent a messenger the night before, since I knew Emerson would not, but it was our obligation to inform the Antiquities Department of any major finds. With the new director still in France, Quibell was the highest-ranking Egyptologist presently in Cairo, and of course he was also an old friend.
I pointed this out to Emerson, between bites and swallows.