Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [19]
I had, as is my custom, arranged a little shelter to which we could retire during rest periods. While the others collected their tools, I sat Sennia down on a campstool and gave her the same lecture I delivered every day—for I had discovered, through painful experience, that constant repetition is the only hope of driving an idea into the head of a young person. She was easier to manage than Ramses had been (any child would have been easier than Ramses) because she lacked the streak of Machiavellian logic that had enabled him to squirm out of obeying my orders.
“Remember, you are not to go off on your own, without Gargery or one of us. You are not to eat anything the gaffirs give you. You are not to talk with any of the tourists. Do not get in the way of the basket carriers. Do not stand on or cross the tracks; those heavy cars are difficult to stop once they have started moving.”
“Yes, Aunt Amelia,” said Sennia.
“Don’t you worry, madam,” said Gargery. “I will be following in her every footstep.”
“Quite right,” Emerson remarked. “What are your plans for today, Little Bird?”
“I am going to get more bones for Aunt Nefret.”
“Thank you,” Nefret said gravely. She had already been presented with several baskets full of miscellaneous animal bones, all of them bleached white and none of them over ten years old.
Sennia nodded graciously. “It is no trouble.”
I noticed that Gargery was limping as he followed Sennia’s agile little form. Ah well, I thought; he will be back in trim before long, and that sunburn won’t be nearly so painful after a few more days. He made her stop and look both ways before they crossed the rails that connected our dig with the distant dump heap.
I lost track of them after that, since Emerson demanded my services. In fact I was not worried about her getting into a dangerous situation. Gargery followed close on her heels, and so did Horus; the beast’s vile temper and uncanny resemblance to the hunting cats depicted in the ancient reliefs made even the guards and guides wary of approaching too close. My warning about talking with tourists had quite a different motive. The wretches were insatiably curious about us and our work. Sennia was such a quaint little figure in her boy’s clothes that she was bound to attract attention, and she was too innocent to parry impertinent questions.
We had begun work on a new mastaba, next to the ones we had excavated the previous year. (Most archaeologists, I daresay, would have ripped through the lot of them in one winter, but the distractions to which I have alluded had prevented us from putting in a full season, and our tentative plans of returning in the spring had been superseded by familial obligations.) Two days’ digging had exposed the top of the walls of the chapel and the openings of several deep shafts that led to the burial chambers of the owner and his family. The roofing stones were gone—collapsed, I presumed, into the chamber below—and the whole upper part was filled with sand and debris. Since Emerson insisted upon sifting every square inch of this fill, emptying the chamber would take a long time.
A long, boring time.
Nefret took a few photographs, but there was nothing much for Ramses to do until and unless we uncovered reliefs and inscriptions. It was he who hailed us from his vantage point above the tomb.
“Here comes Sennia at a dead trot. Looks as if she’s found something. Prepare to be enthusiastic, Nefret.”
“Probably a camel bone this time,” Nefret said. “It’s time we stopped for a rest, Aunt—I mean, Mother. You’ve been crouching over that sifter for hours.”
She gave me a hand to help me rise—I am always a little stiff the first few days—it soon passes—and Ramses went to meet Sennia, who had outstripped Gargery by several yards. Swinging her up onto his shoulders, Ramses carried her to the shelter where Nefret and I had retired.
“She’s made an exciting discovery,” he announced seriously. “But she won’t show it to me.”
Sennia’s clenched