He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [89]
“Who else did you invite?” he growled.
“Only General Maxwell.”
Nefret choked on her coffee and Emerson appeared to be on the brink of an explosion. “He won’t come,” I said quickly. “He has far too many other things on his mind. It was only a courteous gesture.”
“Good Gad.” Emerson jumped up.
“And Mr. Woolley—”
“Stop! I don’t want to hear any more. The whole damned city of Cairo will be converging on my tomb.”
I had been certain that he would interrupt me before I finished the list. Catching Ramses’s eye, I smiled and winked.
“Shall we go, then?” I suggested.
The sun was rising over the hills of the Eastern Desert when we mounted our horses. As usual, Emerson suggested we take the motorcar. As usual, I overruled him. Those early-morning rides were such a pleasant way to begin the day, with the fresh breeze caressing one’s face and the sunlight spreading gently across the fields. My intelligent steed, one of Risha’s offspring, knew the way as well as I, so I let the reins lie loose and fixed my eyes on the view—which I certainly could not have done had I been sitting beside Emerson in the car.
Early as we were, we had only just arrived at the tomb when our first visitor appeared. Visitors, I should say, for Quibell had brought his wife Annie along. She was a talented artist who had worked for Petrie at Sakkara. It was then she had met her future husband, and I well remembered the day when poor James had come staggering into our camp at Mazghuna requesting medicine for himself and “the young ladies.” Mr. Petrie’s people were always suffering from stomach trouble, owing to his peculiar dietary habits; the half-spoiled food he expected them to eat never bothered him in the slightest.
Emerson greeted his colleague with a grumble. James, who was quite accustomed to him, replied with a smile and hearty congratulations. Selim and Daoud lowered him into the shaft while Emerson hovered over it like a gargoyle.
“Khafre, do you think?” James called up. “I don’t see an inscription.”
“There may be one on the base,” Emerson replied. “As you see, we have not yet uncovered it. If you will get out of there, Quibell, we can proceed.”
Annie declined to emulate her husband’s example; her sensible short skirt and stout boots were suitable for hiking in the desert but not for being lowered into shafts. So we took her to the little rest place I had set up, arranging camp stools and tables and a few packing cases, in the cleared area in front of the tomb, and left the men to get on with it. She was impressed by the quality of the reliefs, and declared that the false door would make a splendid watercolor.
“Unfortunately we have no one who could do it,” Ramses said.
“Yes; you must miss David. What a pity . . .” She did not finish the sentence.
“Tragedy, rather,” I said. “Part of the greater tragedy that has overtaken the world. Ah, well, we must all do what we can, eh? But I believe I hear a party of confounded tourists approaching. If you will excuse me, Annie, I am on guard duty today and must not shirk my task.”
By mid-morning, when we stopped for tea, I had driven away a good two dozen people, none of whom were known to me. Annie and James had left, after discussing the disposition of the statue with Emerson. James’s suggestion, that it be taken directly to the Museum, had been rejected by Emerson with the scorn it deserved. “You will claim it in the end, no doubt, but until we make the final division of finds, it will be safer in my custody. The security measures at the Museum are perfectly wretched.”
Soon after we returned to work, other visitors came, whom it was impossible to drive away. Clarence Fisher, who was about to begin work in the West Cemetery field, dropped by to have a look; the High Commissioner, Sir Henry MacMahon, arrived, escorting some titled visitors who were aching to “see something dug up.” They soon became bored with the slow, tedious process, but they were replaced by Woolley and Lawrence and several officers with archaeological leanings. Emerson sent Ramses up to entertain them (i.e., keep them out of