Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [56]
After the lights had come on and the shades had been drawn back, Perry started taking questions. I got up and headed for the deck. Larry followed me.
‘In need of nicotine?’ he asked, smiling.
I kept forgetting I was a smoker. I took out a cigarette, and said with perfect honesty, ‘I didn’t want to spoil the impression. You’ve done a wonderful thing, Larry. I feel as if I ought to kiss your hand.’
Schmidt was close on Larry’s heels. ‘Sie hat recht, mein Freund,’ he said seriously. ‘The art lovers of the world owe you a great debt. I will not kiss your hand, but I would like to shake it.’
A dark flush spread over Larry’s face. He looked down and shuffled his feet like a bashful schoolboy. ‘Your praise means a great deal to me,’ he mumbled.
I was afraid Schmidt might take advantage of Larry’s emotional state to start hinting about certain other things he could do for the art lovers of the world, so I changed the subject. ‘What happened to her mummy?’
‘One of the unlabelled mummies in the Deir el Bahri cache is believed to be hers,’ Larry said. ‘I question the identification.’
‘On what basis?’ Schmidt asked interestedly.
‘It’s a rather complicated question.’
‘Ach, ja, I recall reading about it.’ Schmidt leaned against the rail, his eyes bright with interest. Schmidt is interested in practically everything, and as I have said, he remembers practically everything he has ever read. ‘There is a papyrus – Amherst, I believe – dating from the twelfth century B.C., which describes the confessions of tomb robbers of Thebes. So many of the royal tombs had been robbed that priests gathered up the royal mummies, or their battered remains, and hid them in a secret place. This cache was found in the 1880s, after it, in turn, had been looted by local thieves. Some of the mummies were unidentified and none were in their original coffins – ’
‘You are very well informed,’ Larry said curtly. He turned, arms on the rail, looking out across the river.
I would have taken the hint, but Schmidt went gaily on. ‘A few years ago the University of Michigan undertook a complete X-ray examination of the royal mummies. There were some peculiar discoveries. For instance, the small wrapped mummy found with the body of a high priestess was not, as had been believed, that of her stillborn child, but a baboon! One of the little old queens was bald and had – what do you call it – teeth that stuck out – ’
‘Brotzeit, Schmidt,’ I interrupted. ‘Specifically, teatime. Why don’t you get us a good table near the buffet before the others come out?’
The prospect of food can distract Schmidt from just about anything. He went bustling off.
‘Are you having tea?’ I asked Larry.
He shook his head. ‘I’m saving myself for the banquet this evening. Come to think of it, I ought to get a costume of some sort together. If you’ll excuse me . . .’
I joined Schmidt. ‘They are still setting out the food,’ he complained. ‘There was no hurry. Why – ’
‘A gentle hint, Schmidt: if you want to win Larry’s heart, don’t talk to him about mummies. Especially the mummies of beautiful Egyptian queens.’
‘Ah.’ Schmidt thought it over. ‘Ah! Vielen Dank, Vicky, I should have realized. A romantic he is, nicht? He dreams of the lovely images, the paintings and the statues.’
‘That’s my guess. Even at their best, mummies aren’t romantic’
‘Mmmm, yes. That is why he does not want to believe the little old lady, who is bald and sticking out of tooth like her descendant, is his dream queen. The head was broken from the badly damaged body – ’
I let out a croak of protest. ‘Schmidt, I’m no romantic, but I am just about to eat. Knock it off, will you?’
I realized I was still holding the cigarette. I was about to return it to the packet when a lighter went off, so