The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [178]
Emerson said, “Hmph!” and Ramses added, “And murdered them ruthlessly and horribly when it suited her purpose. Even that was a demonstration of her perverse interpretation of justice. Those who had failed her judgment met the fate shown in the Book of the Dead. The monster Amnet had the head of a crocodile.”
“Good Gad, what a fanciful idea,” I exclaimed. “And yet . . .”
My hand went to the amulet hanging round my neck. Ramses nodded. “Yes. The ape who guards the balance, the symbol she chose for her organization. Justice, which has been achieved. As you say, Mother, it is strange how things work out.”
The most astonishing news, which I had heard that evening from Fatima, was that Layla had returned to her house in Gurneh.
“Amazing effrontery,” Cyrus ejaculated.
“Not really,” I replied, for I had had time to consider the matter. “As soon as she heard of Bertha’s death—and such news travels quickly—she knew it was safe to return. We would not take action against her, for we owe her a considerable debt. Perhaps I ought to call on her and—”
A profane remark from Emerson indicated his disapproval of this idea.
“That would not be advisable, Mother.” Ramses was quick to add his opinion.
“Then—yes, I think you and David ought to go—for a brief visit, I mean. Gratitude is more important than propriety, and you owe her your lives. You might take her a nice present.”
“I have every expectation of doing that, Mother,” said my son. And indeed, when I raised the point several days later, he assured me that he had.*
Over the next few days Cyrus rather neglected his own excavations, with which, as he was frank to admit, he had become very bored. He was not the only archaeologically inclined individual who yearned for a view of the burial chamber of Mr. Davis’s tomb. Our old friend the Reverend Mr. Sayce arrived in Luxor, Mr. Currelly, M. Lacau—the stream of visitors was endless, and it was augmented by (to quote Emerson) “every empty-minded society person who wants in.” Cyrus was one of them—the former category, not the latter—to his great delight. Katherine amiably declined the treat, despite her husband’s enthusiastic descriptions of the golden crown (“Pectoral,” Ramses interrupted) and gold-covered panels (“What’s left of them,” muttered Emerson).
The entrance corridor had been cleared by then; the poor panel rested on a framework of wood, and one had only to duck one’s head and walk under. When I paid my own visit to the burial chamber—for I saw no reason to decline when every “empty-minded” visitor to Luxor had already been there—I was shocked to see how conditions had deteriorated since my first visit. The floor looked as if it were carpeted with flakes of gold, which had fallen from the panels of the shrine. The photographer had placed his tripod up against the mummy case in order to get a close view of the four canopic jars, which were still in the niche. I fear I forgot myself. Turning to Ned, who had accompanied me, I cried, “The panels! Why didn’t you lower the one that is leaning against the wall?”
A few more flakes of gold drifted gently down to the floor, and from under the black hood of the camera came a wordless grumble of protest.
“Yes, sir, at once.” Ned tugged at my sleeve. “We had better get out of his way, Mrs. Emerson, he is very touchy about having people in here when he’s about to shoot. You can come back tomorrow, when he’s finished.”
So distraught was I by what I had seen that the meaning of his last sentence did not penetrate my mind until after we had emerged from the tomb. “Did you say he will finish today?” I inquired. “But surely he will come back to photograph the mummy itself when you lift the lid of