The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [125]
“It seems to me, Amelia, that you are jumping to conclusions when you assume it is this person who is responsible for your present difficulties. You have no real evidence.”
“In fact I don’t believe he is,” I said. “It is Emerson who sees Sethos lurking everywhere. I think . . . But we are almost there. We will talk about it later.”
The Cook’s Tour people were leaving the Valley, and the donkey park was a maelstrom of braying and bustling. We left our steeds in the care of the attendant and walked the short distance to our tomb.
Selim was the first to greet us; he explained that Emerson and the children were with Davis Effendi. I had been afraid they would be. Walter was keen on seeing the new tomb, and I was keen on finding out what mischief Emerson had been up to, so we lingered only long enough to say good morning to Abdullah and the others. At first Daoud was nowhere to be seen. Apparently someone—most probably Selim—had explained to him that Lia’s parents might be a trifle put out with him. He finally emerged from the tomb looking like a very large, very anxious child. Walter shook his hand and Evelyn thanked him, and Lia gave him an affectionate hug, and he immediately cheered up. Once that was settled, I told Selim to take the baskets to our lunch tomb and we went on down the path.
Our family was there, and to judge by the look of it, so was half the town of Luxor. Davis had brought his usual party. I waved to Mrs. Andrews, who was sitting on a rug fanning herself with such vigor that the feathers on her hat fluttered, and went directly to Emerson. I did not at all like the look of him.
“Hallo, Peabody,” he said gloomily.
“What is going on?” I asked.
“Disaster, doom and destruction. There would have been a death too,” he added, “if Nefret hadn’t kept me away from Weigall. You won’t believe this, Peabody—”
“You ought not remain here if it annoys you so much, Emerson. What good can you do?”
“Some, I think,” was the response. “They all know my views on the ethics of excavation, and Weigall pretends to share them. My very presence may have a sobering effect.”
At that point Mr. Davis poppped up out of the stairwell, followed by several other men. He did not look as if he were sobered by Emerson’s presence. Exultation and excitement had turned his face a frightening shade of red. “It’s her!” he shouted. “Aha—there you are, Mrs. Emerson. Has your husband told you? It’s Queen Tiyi! What a discovery!”
“Not the Queen Tiyi!” I exclaimed.
“Yes, yes! The wife of Amenhotep the Third, the mother of Khuenaten, the daughter of Yuya and Thuya, whose tomb I found last year, the—”
“Yes, Mr. Davis, I know who she was. Are you certain?”
“No question about it. Her name is on the shrine. It was made for her by her son, Khuenaten. She’s there, in her coffin, in the burial chamber!”
“You’ve been into the burial chamber?” I inquired, with an involuntary glance at Emerson. “You crawled along that ten-inch-wide plank?”
“Of course.” Davis beamed. “Couldn’t keep me out. There’s life in the old man yet, Mrs. Emerson.”
I had a feeling there wouldn’t be life in him much longer if he went on at this rate. If Emerson didn’t massacre him, he would have a stroke; he was hopping with excitement and panting like a grampus. I urged him to sit down and rest. Visibly touched at my concern, he assured me he was about to go to lunch.
“You’ll want to have a look,” he said generously. “And the Professor. Later, eh?”
Emerson had not moved or spoken. He was beyond outrage, I believe, and had passed into a kind of coma of disgust. I poked him gently with my parasol.
“Come to luncheon, Emerson. Walter and Evelyn and Lia are here.”
“Who?”
Realizing I was not going to get any sense out of him for a while, I called to the children, and we led Emerson back to our rest tomb, where the others were waiting. Evelyn and Walter were mightily intrigued by the news that the tomb had belonged to Queen Tiyi, the mother of Akhenaton; they had first met at Amarna, the city of the heretic pharaoh (whom Davis referred to by the old reading of