The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [123]
He had spoken rather sharply but instead of snapping back at him she smiled bewitchingly. “Touché, my boy. Who’s that coming?”
“Weigall. He and some of the others camped in the Valley last night.”
No one could resist Nefret. Ramses knew he was infatuated to the point of irrationality, but even Weigall, who had good reason to mistrust the whole Emerson family, thawed under her smiles and dimples.
“We are breakfasting with Mr. Davis on his dahabeeyah,” Weigall announced. “And returning with him. Uh—what are you doing, Professor?”
Emerson tossed the rock he held aside and began to explain. Watching with considerable amusement, Ramses realized that he had underestimated his father. The most severe critic could not have objected to what he was doing. Davis had wanted to enter the tomb; Emerson was making it possible for him to do so.
“We’ll have the place all tidied up when you get back,” he announced, grinning wolfishly. “Wouldn’t want Davis to twist his rickety old ankle scrambling down those littered steps. Ayrton will keep an eye on us, won’t you, Ayrton? Yes. Run along and enjoy your breakfast, Weigall.”
He assisted the Inspector on his way with a hearty slap on the back. As soon as he was out of sight Emerson turned like a tiger on David. “Get in there and start copying the inscriptions on that panel.”
David had half-expected it, but he didn’t like it. “Sir,” he began.
“Do as I say. Ramses, go on down the path and keep watch. Give us a hail if you see anyone I would rather not see.”
Nefret started to laugh. “Don’t worry, Mr. Ayrton,” she sputtered. “No one will blame you; they are only too familiar with the Professor’s little ways. Anyhow, no one will know unless you tell them.”
Ayrton surveyed the interested audience, which consisted of his crew and most of the Emersons’ men. After a moment his outraged expression relaxed into a reluctant grin. “What did you do, bribe them?”
“Bribes and intimidation,” said Nefret cheerfully. “They think Ramses is closely related to all the afreets in Egypt. Have an orange.”
Obeying his father’s gesture, Ramses stationed himself where he could see along the path that led to the donkey park. What his father was doing violated every written and unwritten principle of archaeological ethics, not to mention his firman. Ramses—who never let principle get in his way either—was in complete sympathy. Every movement across the plank, every breath would dislodge a few more flakes of the gold leaf. Lord only knew how much of the relief would remain after a few more days of such activity. His father had offered Davis the services of Sir Edward as photographer and David as artist. Davis had flatly refused. He wanted to be in complete control of “his” dig.
Ramses flexed his stiff fingers and cursed himself for the stupidity that had made it impossible for him to join in the fun. If he hadn’t been so carried away by the image of himself as a romantic rescuer he would have employed some of the dirtier and equally effective blows he had learned in various dark corners of London and Cairo, instead of punching the villain on the jaw in approved public-school style. He could do some things left-handed, but he had never acquired the delicate precision necessary for copying hieroglyphs. Layla had been right when she called him a fool. Well, she had got away, anyhow. At least he prayed she had.
The sound of someone approaching made him start. It was only Abdullah. He was looking unusually grave.
“There is something you must know, my son.”
“If it’s about Daoud, my father, don’t be concerned. No one is angry with him. Not very angry.”
“No, it is not that. You must keep it from Nur Misur if you can. There was another body found this morning in the Nile. It was like the other—torn and mangled. This body was a woman’s.”
•
Eleven
•
I had not supposed that Emerson would be deterred from his work by