The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [157]
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BOOK THREE
THE WEIGHING OF
THE HEART
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Hear ye the judgment.
His heart has been weighed truly and his soul
has testified for him. His cause is righteous
in the Great Balance.
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Fourteen
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When we crossed over to Luxor on Monday afternoon I saw the familiar dahabeeyah of the director of the Service des Antiquités tied up at the dock. So the Masperos had arrived! I would have to call on them, of course. I only hoped I could prevent Emerson from doing so, for in his present state of exasperation he was bound to say something rude.
I had sent a messenger to Mohassib earlier to tell him we would come to see him that afternoon. When we reached his house we saw several men sitting on the mastaba bench beside the gate. They stared in undisguised curiosity, and one of them said with a sly smile, “Have you come to buy antiquities, Father of Curses? Mohassib charges too much; I will give you a better price.”
Emerson acknowledged this feeble witticism with a grimace. It was well known that he never bought antiquities from dealers. After greeting each of the men by name, he drew me aside. “I believe I will take advantage of the opportunity to fahddle with these fellows, Peabody, and see what gossip I can pick up. You and Nefret go ahead. Mohassib will be more at ease with you, and I feel sure, my dear, that you can persuade him into indiscretions my presence might inhibit.”
Like Emerson, I knew most of the “fellows”; several were dealers in fakes and antiquities, and one was a member of the notorious Abd er Rassul family, the most skilled tomb robbers in Thebes.
“Very well,” I said. “Sir Edward, will you be good enough to take the—to take that parcel? Ramses, you and David stay with your father.”
Emerson rolled his eyes in evident exasperation, but did not protest. Taking out his pipe, he joined the men on the mastaba.
We were greeted by Mohassib himself. He led us into a nicely furnished room where tea was set out on a low table. Not until we had taken the seats he offered did I realize David had followed us into the house.
“I told you to stay with the Professor,” I said in a low voice.
“He ordered me to come with you,” David replied. “Ramses is watching him. We thought—”
“All right, never mind,” I said quickly. Mohassib was watching us, and it would have been rude to continue a whispered conversation.
The usual compliments and courtesies and pouring of tea took a long time. Mohassib did not glance at my parcel, which I had placed carefully on the floor beside my chair. He left it to me to introduce the reason for our visit, which I did in the conventional oblique fashion.
“We were honored to learn you wished to see us,” I began. “My husband had other business; he sends his—”
“Curses, no doubt,” said Mohassib, stroking his beard. “I know the mind of Emerson Effendi. No, Sitt Hakim, do not apologize for him. He is a man of honor, whom I esteem. I would be of service to him.”
“In what way?” I asked.
The question was too blunt. I ought to have replied with a compliment and a corresponding offer of friendship. Mohassib courteously overlooked my blunder, but it took him forever to get to the point.
“You were asking, a few days ago, about a certain man from Cairo.”
“Did you know him?” I asked eagerly.
“I knew who he was.” Mohassib’s lip curled. “I do not have dealings with such people. But I heard—it was after Emerson was here—I heard he was the one found in the Nile.”
“The man killed by a crocodile,” I said.
“We know, you and I, that no crocodile killed him—or the girl. Hear my words, Sitt. Do not waste your time looking for these people among the dealers in antiquities. They have nothing