The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [150]
“I told you you should have hired Carter,” Emerson said unsympathetically.
“Couldn’t let Amherst go, could I? He’s doing the best he can. How about having a look at Davis’s tomb?” Cyrus added emphatically, “Darn the fellow!”
So we all went to have a look. No one was there but Ned, standing guard, or so I assumed, since nothing was going on. He explained that Mr. Paul was still photographing, so no visitors were allowed.
“Is Sir Edward with him?” I asked. I had not seen the young man that morning; he had come in late and left early.
“Yes, ma’am, he was here at the break of day,” Ned said poetically. “It certainly is good of you to spare him.”
“I would have been happy to spare other members of my staff,” said Emerson snappishly. “Is that fellow Smith painting? Can’t imagine why Davis uses him when David and Carter are available.”
He went on grumbling while Cyrus, at Ned’s invitation, descended the steps and peered into the entrance corridor. When he came back his face was alight. Cyrus was a true enthusiast, and very well informed for an amateur. It did seem a pity he had never found anything worthwhile.
“When will you open the coffin?” Cyrus asked greedily. “Consarn it, I’d give a thousand dollars to be present!”
Katherine gave me an amused smile. “He would, too,” she said. “But Mr. Ayrton is incorruptible, Cyrus, you cannot bribe him.”
“Now, Katherine, Mr. Ayrton knows I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Oh, no, sir,” Ned said. “That is—yes, sir, I do know. M. Maspero is arriving tomorrow; I’m sure he would give you permission.”
Emerson groaned. “Maspero? Well, curse it, that will be the end of the tomb. He’ll want to go in, and he will invite everybody he knows to go in, and by the time they finish stumbling about there won’t be a scrap left in its original place. How much longer will the photography take?”
Ned shrugged. “I don’t know, Professor.”
“He doesn’t know much, does he?” Emerson said disagreeably—but not until after we were on our way back to our own tomb.
Ramses was quick to defend his friend. “He is not the one who makes those decisions, Father. Once Maspero gets here he will be officially in charge.”
“We can ask Sir Edward about the photographs,” I suggested. “This evening, perhaps.”
“Hmm, yes,” Emerson said. “That young man has been conspicuous by his absence of late. I want to have a talk with him.”
Since the hour was past midday, Cyrus suggested we go back to the Castle for lunch. This was agreeable to all. The only question was what to do with Horus, whom Nefret had brought with her. He had stayed with us, for a change; usually he went off on his own, hunting . . . something or other . . . and we always had a hard time collecting him when it was time to go home. Now she asked Cyrus if the invitation included the cat.
“Why, sure, bring him along,” said Cyrus.
“My dear,” Katherine exclaimed. “Have you forgot that Sekhmet is in—er—a delicate condition?”
I knew the cat could not be expecting or Cyrus would have mentioned it, so I concluded that the condition to which Katherine referred was the one that often led to the other.
“We’ve got her shut up in her room like always,” Cyrus said cheerfully.
I had seen Sekhmet’s room. It had mesh screens on the windows and was furnished with cat beds, cat toys, and cat dishes. Many human beings do not enjoy quarters as comfortable.
“Don’t count on a locked door to keep that feline Casanova out,” said Ramses, giving Horus a hateful look.
Horus gave him one back. All Bastet’s descendants are unusually intelligent.
Cyrus studied the animal with a new interest. Horus sat at Nefret’s feet, his paws together and his head lifted alertly. His resemblance to the felines depicted in the ancient paintings was particularly strong just then; his long ears were pricked, his brindled coat glowed in the sunlight. He might have been the model for the painting of the Cat of Re that illustrated the portion of the papyrus I had recently translated.
Cyrus tugged at his goatee. “Hmmmm,” he said thoughtfully.
When the