Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [182]
“I haven’t exposed anything yet,” Cyrus retorted. “Jumping Jehoshaphat, Emerson, all I want is one tomb—one good tomb. That’s not asking much.”
The sun was high overhead when they settled down in the mouth of an unfinished tomb and opened the basket of food.
“That’s enough for you today, Bertie,” Emerson announced.
“I feel perfectly fit, sir,” Bertie protested.
“Of course you do.” Emerson smiled paternally. “It’s a long ride back, though, and you mustn’t overdo. Tomorrow is another day.”
Daoud wanted to take Bertie home, but Emerson had other ideas. As soon as they had finished eating, he sent Bertie off with Jamil and Jumana.
“That’s got rid of them,” he announced, taking out his pipe. “Now we can get down to business.”
“Will he be all right?” Ramses asked, watching the little cortege wind its way along the valley floor toward the entrance.
“She’ll look after him,” Emerson said. “Pack up, Selim, and let’s be off.”
“Where?” Ramses asked.
“Where do you think?”
“Deir el Medina?”
“Very good,” Emerson said.
“Is it the man Kuentz you suspect?” Selim asked, jumbling crockery and leftover food into the basket. Apparently Cyrus and Emerson had not been talking archaeology with him.
“I think he’s our man, yes,” said Emerson.
“The broken stela Sennia found,” Ramses said.
“Well done,” said his father.
“I don’t get it,” Cyrus said blankly.
“The bottom part had been knocked off,” Ramses explained. “It was a fresh break. The name and titles of the owner were missing. That’s why it took me awhile to remember where I had seen others like it. In those cases, the owners were described as workers in the Place of Truth—the Valley of the Kings, that is. The men who cut and decorated the royal tombs lived at Deir el Medina.”
Emerson’s pipe had gone out. He gave Ramses an encouraging smile and struck a match.
“The stela was planted,” Ramses said. “Not only to capture our interest—Father might well have insisted on excavating the entire damned rubbish dump, which would have taken the rest of the season—”
“Your mother wouldn’t let me,” said Emerson, grinning.
“If I may finish, Father? It also got Sennia interested in the dump site and made it easier for the kidnapper to approach her. But it’s not proof of Kuentz’s guilt.”
“Bah,” said Emerson.
“He’s the one who sent you to the spot where the rock fell,” Cyrus pointed out.
“And the body. I think I’ve figured out why—”
“So do I,” said Emerson. “The poor devil was an innocent bystander who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Yes, sir, I agree. But even if we are right, it doesn’t necessarily incriminate Kuentz.”
“So let us go and make him confess,” said Daoud. “He tried to hurt the Little Bird.”
“Well said, Daoud.” Emerson knocked out his pipe and rose.
“We don’t know that he’s guilty,” Ramses insisted. “Leave the questions to us, Daoud.”
“Of course,” said Daoud.
After handing over the keys and tipping the custodian, they rode back between the rugged, sun-bleached cliffs to the road and took the turning that led to the workmen’s village.
“A word with you, Ramses.” said Emerson. The others obediently fell back.
“Yes, sir?” said Ramses.
“Did I sound patronizing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Habit, my boy. Didn’t intend to.”
“That’s all right, sir.” It was more of an apology than he had counted upon, and perhaps more than he deserved. He added, “I shouldn’t have been so defensive.”
“You are leaning over backward to be fair. Wasn’t Kuentz one of Nefret’s swains a few years ago?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is he still?”
“Damn it, Father—”
“Jealousy,” said Emerson, “takes people differently. I, for example, shout and threaten. It’s the best method. Get it out of one’s system. Women are—er—they don’t think the way we do.”
My God, Ramses thought, I’m about to get that kindly lecture fathers are supposed to deliver before their sons marry. He’s a little late. More than a little. I don’t think I can stand it if he starts telling me how . . .
“I agree, sir,” he said quickly.
“You,” said his father, carefully not looking