Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [49]
“William? William Amherst? Can it be you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said William. (At least he had enough confidence in his own identity to make it a statement instead of a question.)
For a number of years William had worked for Cyrus, supervising the latter’s excavations in the Valley of the Kings. I had known him well, but my disbelief was understandable. He had been a fine, upstanding young chap, with a ready smile. The man who faced me now stood with shoulders hunched and head bent. His clothing was shabby, his boots had been patched, and the once neatly trimmed mustache drooped raggedly over his mouth.
“Well!” I said with somewhat forced heartiness. “How good it is to see you, William, and how kind of you to drop by. We were about to stop for a bite of luncheon. Will you join us?”
It was as if I had wound the spring of an automaton. The drooping figure burst into speech. “I wouldn’t have come at this time, Mrs. Emerson, but I know the Professor does not like to be interrupted when he is working, and I would not have ventured to call on you at home—”
“Why on earth not? Emerson will be delighted to see you too. He is down in a burial shaft. I will call him.”
“No, ma’am, please! Not until I have told you . . . I would rather ask you than the Professor, ma’am. You can explain it to him—if you will be so very good—”
“Explain what? Get a grip on yourself, William.” He looked so guilty, I couldn’t help asking, “Have you committed a crime, or got yourself in trouble with the Service des Antiquités?”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Emerson! Nothing of the sort. The truth is . . . well, Howard Carter told me you were looking for . . . And then I heard that Ramses and Miss Nefret had . . . So I thought perhaps . . .”
I felt as if I were trying to translate a language of which I knew only a few words. Fortunately I am experienced at conundrums. “Are you applying for a position on our staff?”
“Uh—yes.”
“Why?”
“Er—”
“Our minimum requirements demand that any individual we employ be able to express himself in ordinary English,” I said impatiently. “What I am endeavoring to ascertain is why you want a position. The last I heard of you—for I take an interest in my friends, William—was that you had enlisted.”
“I tried to.” He bowed his head. “They wouldn’t take me. I have a—a medical condition . . .”
Delicacy forbade further questioning on that point. I felt sure I now understood how the unfortunate young man had come to his present state. I could have wrung the truth out of him, sentence by sentence, but it seemed simpler to state my conclusions.
“You felt disgraced and ashamed,” I said. “That is very silly, William, but such a reaction is typical of the male sex. So you decided to drown your shame in drink, abandon a promising career, and wallow in self-pity? Quite characteristic. What reason have I to believe you have reformed?”
“None,” William said humbly. “But if you will give me a chance, I swear I will prove myself.”
At that unpropitious moment Emerson’s head appeared. He was standing on a ladder, with the rest of his body in the shaft, but the suggestion of decapitation was somewhat uncanny. “Who’s that?” he shouted. “Why aren’t you working? Isn’t it time for luncheon?”
“It is,” I shouted back. “Come up, Emerson, and greet an old friend.”
Before he joined us there was only time for me to say softly, “I am inclined to believe you, William, and I will do my best to persuade Emerson. Only straighten up and face him like a man!”
Emerson required very little persuasion. He was so frustrated he probably would have hired an ax murderer if that individual had been able to translate Egyptian. Encouraged by a series of surreptitious pokes from me, William managed to speak coherently and look Emerson in the eye. He explained he had a room in a so-called hotel in Giza village. I knew the place, and would not have kenneled a dog there, but I decided I would wait awhile before offering the hospitality