The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [47]
“What about the antiquities dealers?” I went on. “Has anything of unusual interest turned up?”
That was safer ground, for once a stolen or looted object reached the hands of the dealers it became public knowledge. Brightening, Selim rattled off a list of artifacts which had come onto the market. Even Emerson could find nothing of particular significance among them. It annoyed him a great deal; he had hoped there would be evidence that the Gurnawis had discovered a rich new tomb, which would give him an excuse to look for it.
The morning after our arrival I tried once again to persuade Emerson to a more sensible course of action. My approach was, as always, subtle and oblique.
“Cyrus and Katherine Vandergelt have asked us to dine this evening,” I remarked, looking through the messages that had awaited us.
Emerson grunted. He had covered half the breakfast table with his notebooks and was looking through them. I removed one of them from his plate, wiped off the buttery crumbs, and tried again. “Cyrus is planning to excavate in the Asasif this year. I am sure he would appreciate assistance. His staff—”
“. . . is adequate for the purpose.” Emerson looked up, scowling spectacularly. “Are you at it again, Amelia? We will start work today on the tombs in that small side valley—if I can locate the sketch map I made last year. Ramses, have you been borrowing my notes again?”
Ramses swallowed—he had just filled his mouth with the last bite of his porridge—and shook his head. “No, Father. Not those notes. I took the liberty—”
“Never mind.” Emerson sighed. “I suppose you and David won’t be joining us.”
“As I told you, sir, we intend to begin copying the inscriptions at the Seti I temple. But if you want us . . .”
“No, no.” Another deep sigh expanded Emerson’s muscular chest. “Your publication on the Colonnade Hall of the Luxor Temple was a splendid piece of work. You must continue with your copying. A series of such volumes will make your reputations and be an invaluable record.”
“If the boys were to help us we would be done sooner,” I remarked.
“No, Peabody, I will not allow it. Ramses is right, you know.”
“Ramses right?” I exclaimed. “What about?”
“About the importance of preservation over excavation. As soon as a monument, a temple or a tomb, is uncovered, it begins to deteriorate. There will come a time, in the not too distant future, when the only remainders of vital historical data are copies like the ones the boys are making. What Ramses and David are doing is of greater value to Egyptology than the totality of my work.”
His voice was low and broken, his brow furrowed. He bowed his head.
“Good Gad, Emerson!” I cried in alarm. “I have never heard you speak like this. What is wrong with you?”
“I am waiting for someone to contradict me,” said Emerson in his normal tones.
After Emerson had enjoyed his little joke at our expense, he admitted his earlier announcement had also been in the nature of a jest.
“We need not begin work for another day or two. I would like to have a general look round the Valley before I decide where to begin. The rest of you may do as you like, of course.”
Not surprisingly, everyone decided that a visit to the Valley was precisely what would suit them. As was our habit, we followed the path that led up the cliffs behind Deir el Bahri and across the plateau. Emerson forged ahead, holding my hand, and the children fell behind. Nefret was encumbered with the cat, who had indicated a desire to accompany her. She treated him like a kitten, which he was not (by a good fifteen pounds), and he took ruthless advantage of her.
The slanting sunlight of early morning outlined rocks and ridges with blue-black shadows. In a few hours, when the sun was directly overhead, the barren ground would be bleached to pale cream. Blistering hot by day, bitter cold in the winter nights, the desert plateau