The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [122]
From Manuscript H
Ramses had seen the fever mounting, and had known nothing short of physical violence would keep his father away from Davis’s tomb. He had sometimes wondered whether Emerson would interrupt an interesting excavation long enough to interfere if he saw his son being strangled or battered—and then reproached himself for his doubts. Emerson would remove the attacker, knock him unconscious, inquire, “All right, are you, my boy?” and go back to work.
It was different with Nefret, of course. His father had once stated his intention of killing a man just for laying his hands on her, and Ramses didn’t doubt he had meant it. He felt precisely the same way.
It lacked at least an hour till daylight when they reached the entrance to the Valley. The donkey park was deserted except for one of the gaffirs, who had found a quiet corner and a bundle of rags on which to sleep. They answered his sleepy questions with a few coins and left the horses with him.
The moon had set. Starlight glimmered in Nefret’s hair.
The men who had been left to guard the new tomb were asleep. One of them woke at the crunch of rock under their booted feet and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He responsed to Emerson’s soft greeting with a mumbled “It is the Father of Curses. And the Brother of Demons. And—”
“And others,” said Emerson. “Go back to sleep, Hussein. Sorry I woke you.”
“What are you going to do, Father of Curses?”
“Sit here on this rock” was the calm response.
The man lay down and rolled over. Egyptians had long since concluded that the activities of the Father of Curses were incomprehensible. It was an opinion shared by many non-Egyptians.
Emerson took out his pipe and the others settled down beside him. “Aren’t you going to look at the tomb?” Nefret whispered.
“In the dark? Couldn’t see a thing, my dear.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
“Wait.”
Sunrise was slow to reach the depths of the Valley, but the light gradually strengthened and the guards woke and built a fire to make coffee. Nefret produced the basket of food Fatima had forced on her, and they passed around bread and eggs and oranges, sharing them with the guards, as those courteous individuals shared their coffee. While they were eating, Abdullah and the other men turned up and joined the party. They were all having a jolly time when they heard someone approaching.
The newcomer was Ned Ayrton, followed by several of his workmen. When he saw them he stopped and stared.
“We dropped in to see if we could lend a hand,” said Emerson jovially. “Would you care for a boiled egg?”
“Uh—no, sir, thank you. I haven’t time. Mr. Davis will be here in a few hours and he will wish—”
“Yes, I know. Well, my boy, we are at your disposal. Tell us what you want us to do.”
What Ayrton wanted, above all else, was to have them go away. Since he was too courteous to say so, he stuttered, “I thought—I thought I might finish clearing the stairs. Get them—er—nice and tidy. Wouldn’t want anyone to trip over a rock and—er.”
“Quite, quite,” Emerson said. With what might have been a smile—except that it showed altogether too many teeth—he got up and started for the stairs.
“What’s he going to do?” Ayrton whispered, giving Ramses an agonized look.
“God knows. How soon do you expect Mr. Davis?”
“Not before nine. He said early, but that is early for him. Ramses, I must have everything ready when he arrives. He will wish—”
“I know.”
“Ramses, what is the Professor going to DO?”
“Would you object to our taking photographs?”
“You can’t get anything. The angle is all wrong and the doorway is in shadow, and . . . Oh, I suppose it’s all right, so long as you don’t let him see you doing it.”
He hurried off. Ramses turned to Nefret, who had been listening with a sardonic smile. She shook her head.
“Poor Ned. He hasn’t much backbone, has he? He’s supposed to be in charge.”
“No, Weigall