Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [166]
“Don’t let her give you too much at one time,” he advised. “She’ll drown you in facts if you allow it.”
Bertie insisted that he had enjoyed every word, but Emerson obviously wanted a private conversation with me. He suggested that Bertie join Jumana, which pleased everyone except possibly Jumana.
“ ‘Find the tomb,’ ” said Emerson in a low growl. “Rather a formidable task, isn’t it, even for you?”
His gesture took in the long curve of the cliffs that enclosed Hatshepsut’s temple and the ruins of the one next to it. Even in that limited area there were a hundred possible hiding places. It fit one of our criteria, however. It was certainly public enough. There were not as many tourists as there had been in past years, but they were all over the place, in clumps and pairs. (The second member of the pair being in all cases a dragoman or guide. It required force majeure to be left alone.)
“Ah well, we can only do our best,” I replied. “No one can succeed unless he tries. Life—”
“One more aphorism—particularly one beginning ‘life’—and I will divorce you, Peabody,” said Emerson. But he smiled as he said it. “It’s not going to be easy exploring with this entourage trailing us. What the devil are we looking for anyhow? A signpost, labeled ‘this way to the lost tomb’?”
I always allow Emerson his little touches of sarcasm, which give him the illusion that he is being witty. Smiling back at him, I said, “We are supposed to be looking for a site for Cyrus. That provides us with a reasonable excuse to go anywhere we like. We can’t allow Bertie to clamber about the cliffs, though. Leave it to me.”
“I always do,” said Emerson.
Jumana had left Bertie and was trotting briskly toward us. I told Emerson to go on and summoned the girl to my side. We had a little chat. I do not believe in beating about the bush, particularly with young persons. Subtle hints pass right over their heads, and this young person appeared to be even more determined and self-centered than most. I reminded her that Cyrus was extremely wealthy, dedicated to archaeology, and devoted to his stepson, and added, “I want you to stay with Bertie today, and on future occasions, while the rest of us engage in activities that would be too strenuous for him.”
“Ah,” said Jumana, her smooth brow wrinkling as she thought it over. It did not take her long to catch my drift. “If I do that, you and Mr. Vandergelt will like me very much?”
I assured her that we would. At least she had not demanded a direct quid pro quo! Leaving her and Bertie to stroll slowly about, we set off in a southerly direction, trailed by Jamil, who was carrying the water bottles. He fell farther and farther behind as we followed the steep path toward the base of the cliffs.
“He is certainly a reluctant assistant,” I remarked to Ramses. “How did he get those bruises?”
“According to Jumana, he got into a fight at one of the Luxor coffee shops. In her opinion—she has a good many opinions,” Ramses interpolated, with a sidelong glance at me—“he spends too much time in such places, with companions who are of questionable reputation. He’s the apple of Yusuf’s eye, though, and the old rascal refuses to discipline him. Watch where you step—it’s rather rough going here.”
He caught hold of my arm. I could have recovered from my stumble without assistance, but I thanked him and explained, “I am quite familiar with the terrain, my dear. I was scanning the cliffs for tomb entrances.”
They—the cliffs, not the entrances—hung over us. Countless years of weathering by wind and water had shaped the stone into bizarre formations, some roughly columnar, some reminiscent of molten stone that had flowed over the top and then hardened. I did not need Emerson—or Ramses—to tell me that looking