The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [158]
I believed him. In acknowledgment and reciprocation—and because I had meant to do it anyhow—I unwrapped my parcel and asked David to lift the lid of the box.
Mohassib’s breath came out in a whistling gasp. “So. It was said you had an antiquity of value, and that was why Yussuf Mahmud went to your house. But who would have thought it would be this?”
“You have seen it before, then?”
“It never passed through my hands. But I have heard of it. It was one of the first objects Mohammed Abd er Rassul took from the cache at Deir el Bahri.”
“Ah,” I breathed. “What happened to it after that?”
The old man shifted position and looked uneasy. “I will tell you what I know of the papyrus, Sitt Hakim. It is common knowledge.
Everyone knew of it, and of certain other things Mohammed hid in his house.” Everyone except the officials of the Service des Antiquités, I thought to myself. Well, it was not surprising that the men of Luxor and Gurneh should join ranks against the foreign interlopers who tried to interfere with their ancient trade. The tombs and their contents had belonged to their ancestors, and hence belonged to them; most of them were desperately poor, and treasure was of no use to the dead. It made perfectly good sense from their point of view.
“The stolen objects lay in hiding for many years,” Mohassib went on. “Once the tomb was known to Brugsch and Maspero, no dealer would dare handle them. But later—a decade later, perhaps—there came a man who did dare. It was said he took the papyri and the royal ushebtis with him to Cairo, where he had established his headquarters, and what he did with them after that no one knows, but one can guess. You can guess, Sitt, and I think you can guess who this man was.”
“Yes,” I said. “I think I can.”
Mohassib had said all he meant to say. He indicated, by thanking me repeatedly for visiting a sick, tired old man, that the interview was at an end. He had suffered a stroke the previous year and did look ill, but when I took his hand in farewell I could not resist asking a final question.
He shook his head. “No, I do not know who they are. I do not wish to know. If you can put a stop to them, good, they dishonor my country and my profession, but I do not want to end up in the jaws of the ‘crocodile.’ ”
From Manuscript H
As soon as the women had gone into the house, Emerson turned to his son. “Go with your mother and Nefret.”
Ramses began, “Mother told us—”
“I know what your mother told you. I am telling you to accompany her.”
Ramses took David by the arm and led him through the open gate. “You had better do as he said.”
“We ought not leave him alone, Ramses. What if—”
“I’ll keep my eye on him. Hurry.”
Shaking his head, David entered the house. One of Mohassib’s servants came into the courtyard carrying a chicken by its feet. The chicken was squawking and flapping; it might not know precisely what was in store for it, but it took a dim view of the proceedings. Ramses beckoned urgently. A quick, silent commercial transaction ensued. Grinning, the servant went off sans galabeeyah and turban, and richer by enough money to buy several of each. He was also sans chicken. Instead of heading for the wide open spaces, the feeble-witted bird began pecking at the hardened dirt. Ramses knew he had won it only a temporary reprieve. An unaccompanied food source wouldn’t remain free long in Luxor.
His father was not a patient man. Ramses had barely finished winding his turban when Emerson rose and took leave of his companions. Tucking the end of the strip of cloth into place, Ramses went in pursuit of the chicken. He had to push the stupid bird before it would move. As he had anticipated, his father looked suspiciously into the courtyard. Seeing only the backside of an inept servant, Emerson proceeded on his way.
After addressing a final critical suggestion to the chicken, and rubbing a handful of dirt over his face, Ramses followed his father. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but at least he wouldn’t stand out in a crowd as he would have done